Resistance
by It's All In Your Mind
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Annie got the way she is? How she and Finnick fell in love? Fairly short chapters. I don't own this!
1. Reaped

**Reaped**

(FINNICK)

I lean forward in my chair, elbows on knees and head on hands.

I hate this. I hate this, I hate this, I _hate this_.

The annual reaping is always a drag. I get a first look at the kids I set up to die. Oh, and I get whored out. Fun. I'm only 19 and I've already murdered people, basically been raped, and had my life ripped away.

Mags is sitting beside me, tapping her cane against the ground.

I like Mags. She was my mentor when I was a tribute. And although she mutters terribly, she's the only family I have left. Besides her, there's no one left I love. She's the one Snow uses against me.

He used to use my mother and brothers, too, but they drowned in a "boating accident" a few months after I was crowned.

Our representative from the Capitol, Brae Briggar, dances over to the name-pools.

"Shall we start with the ladies?" She asks. I hate her voice. It's all squeaky and high-pitched. She sounds like my dog's chew toy. She looks like it, too.

She ruffles her bright blue hair before basically diving into the name-pool. She resurfaces with a slip of crisp white paper pinched between her bony fingers.

She clears her throat. "Annie Cresta!"

Everyone turns. Exactly in the middle of the crowd of females is a dark-haired girl, about 15 years old. Her green eyes are wide as she moves forward.

I've never formally met the girl, but I've seen her around town. Almost every guy is head-over-heels for this olive-skinned girl. And I can't say I blame them.

She reaches the stage and I lock eyes with her, only for a moment. Brae positions her in front of the girls' name-pool and prances to the other side of the stage.

This time, she just grabs a name from the very top of the pile.

"Asper Brewre!" She says.

At the front of the crowd, a young gray-haired boy stumbles forward, eyes wide. As he walks, I few people ruffle his spiky silver hair reassuringly. I've never seen the boy before, but he looks young. Much too young to be a tribute.

In my District, it's an honor to be chosen for the Games. But nobody likes it when a young child is picked. Actually, it's very depressing.

Brae smiles widely. "Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the 70th Hunger Games!"


	2. Journey

**Hey. This is the second chapter. I'm posting it so soon because the other day I had an epiphany and I wrote. Quite a bit, actually. Quite. A. Bit. Excuse my rambling and please enjoy!**

**Journey**

(ANNIE)

The tribute train is . . . Nice.

I spend the first couple of hours in my room, watching my home go by. Then I watch District 3 go by. By the time Brae calls me for dinner, we haven't even gotten halfway through the District.

I pull on a green dress that has been laid out for me and head out with Brae, Capitol representative, leading the way.

"How long will we be on this train?" I ask.

"Tonight," she says. "And until about noon tomorrow,"

Brae's hair is now a sickening shade of purple-pink. My first question: how did she change her hair so fast? The second: how does her new hair not make her blow chunks all over the place?

We're in the dining cart. Its polished walls are adorned with headshots of previous Hunger Games victors, all from District 4.

There have been 10 victors from District 4. It's not too many, but it's not too few, either. Only a few are still alive; the oldest – a guy named Wrather – is going to kick the bucket any day now.

Asper stands up when we enter the cart. What a polite kid.

I smile at him. I notice the puffiness around his gray-green eyes. Poor kid's been crying. I guess I'm not surprised – I _saw_ his face when his name was called. I saw his mother's, too. She must be a complete wreck.

He's not a Career like Finnick. He's not even in the middle like I am. What chance does he have of survival?

A plan enters my mind. I can't help myself.

"So, let's get right down to business!" I declare, flopping down on the nearest chair. "Do you wanna be allies?"

Asper's face lights up. "Yeah! If that's okay." He ruffles his hair, which is now lying in a damp mop across his head. Must've showered.

"Cool." I say with false happiness. I know that one of us will eventually have to die. I also know that I really don't want it to be me.

Brae's surgically-altered eyes widen. "Okay,"

Finnick enters the cart through the far door, his shirt partially unbuttoned. It's like he _wants_ me to swoon.

I look for longer than I should. It takes quite a bit of willpower to tear my eyes away from him and focus on the flickering candles arranged across the table.

Brae clears her throat and examines the tablecloth like it's the most amazing thing she's ever seen. Even _she's_ about to jump his bones!

"What did I miss?" Finnick asks, settling himself down at the head of the table.

"Asper and I are going to be allies," I say, winking at Asper.

He looks up at me with those piercing eyes, as if he's noticing I'm there for the first time. "Oh." He says simply.

Asper looks at Finnick. "Is that alright?"

Finnick grins and my heart sputters. "Of course," he says, tousling his dark hair. "You're actually making my job easier."

Dinner is incredible: a sweet pink broth to start, crab cakes, fat and juicy lobsters, and a rich chocolate cake as dessert.

I lean back, throwing my hands over my stomach. "I think I'm about to die,"

Finnick laughs.

I MADE FINNICK ODAIR LAUGH. OH. MY. DEAD. PUPPIES.

"I agree, Annie,"

Asper sighs. "I'm tired."

Brae nods.

They head off to bed and Finnick turns on the television.

We watch the reaping together on the couch in the lounging cart.

The boy from District 1 actually started cheering. The tributes from 2 wear smug smiles, the pair from three nearly cry. Then it's us.

I look a lot better than I thought I did.

"Wow," I whisper.

"I know," Finnick says. "It's always weird the first time."

I snort. "That is so what she said . . ."

Finnick hits the table and starts to guffaw.

_I made Finnick Odair guffaw_!

"I like you, Annie Cresta." He says, pointing at me.

I look down at my feet, blushing. "Thank you. I like you, too, Finnick Odair."

We lock eyes again, and they stay locked for longer than they should. But I can't bear to pull away. And apparently, neither can he.


	3. Training

**Training**

(FINNICK)

I saunter easily down the hall of the Training Center, periodically popping some stolen candy into my mouth.

I'm in no rush to reach the viewing room and start negotiating alliances with the other mentors. It's always a bleak affair.

The candy is great. I took it straight from the kitchen in the Training Center. It's thick and sugary. And I like sugar.

"Well, well, well." A familiar voice says from behind me. "Finnick Odair."

I turn slowly. Mouth full of candy, I say "Haymitch Abernathy. You drunken bastard."

We embrace. I offer him a piece of candy and he offers me some liquor. And we both respectfully decline.

"So, how are things in the double-digit districts?" I ask, throwing my arm around his shoulder.

We stroll down the hallway together at a leisurely pace.

"Eh." He grunts. "As good as they ever were."

Haymitch isn't much. These days, he's just a washed-up victor, trying to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle.

When he was younger, he was a real looker. At least, that's what Mags tells me. She says he was tall and skinny – very skinny, with long limbs. Basically just a gangly teen.

Not like me. I was – and still am – about six feet tall with dark hair and blue-green eyes and muscles. Yeah. Basically, I'm a sexy beast.

"How about you?" he asks. "How are things in the water world?"

"Eh." I respond.

We laugh.

The door opens, revealing Johanna Mason, 18-year-old victor from District 7.

"Finnick!" she exclaims. She promptly tackles me in a hug.

"Johanna," I say, struggling for breath. "Air is a necessity of life," I remind her.

"Right, right," she says. She releases me and heads back into the Observation Room, brushing her short brown hair with her fingers.

Johanna. She's beautiful. Actually, we had sex about two years back. That was when I was 17 and she was 16. The year after she won her Games.

Now I'm 19 and she's 18 and we're friends. Nothing more.

The Observation Room is strategically built. One wall is a two-way mirror that lets us watch the tributes in training. One wall is a huge television that will soon broadcast the Hunger Games. Another wall is made up of the tributes' pictures. when the Games start, they'll also show where each one is at all times, and there will be a light that blinks in time with their heartbeats. The last wall is blank.

As we come in, we're greeted by the other mentors. There's Beetee the nerd from District 3, Enobaria the freaky lady from 2, a morphling from 6 named Reselda, Chaff – Haymitch's drinking buddy – from 11, and a handful of others that bore me to tears.

I take a seat on a leather couch in the back between Haymitch and Johanna.

An Avox hands us all some champagne.

"We've been watching Annie Cresta," Johanna informs me matter-of-factly. "One of my tributes wants an alliance."

I nod. "I'll ask her about it today."

Johanna settles back down and starts punching in codes her holopad.

"Chaff," Wiress, a victor from 3, says. "Are you sure you . . ."

Beetee wipes his glasses on his wrinkled button-down shirt and picks up where Wiress left off – something he does quite a lot. "Are you sure you don't want a replacement for that arm? We've come up with something we think you'll like." he says. He cracks open his holopad and starts messing with the wires. Nerd.

Chaff just glares at him.

There's something, some sort of mark that all victors keep, even after the surgeons make us all pretty again. It's always something physical.

For Chaff, it's his missing arm.

For Beetee, his glasses. In the arena he made a lot of electronic traps. One of them literally backfired and shrapnel scratched his eyes.

Johanna, it's her short hair. It used to be long – down to her waist. But most of it was singed off by a forest fire that was set during her Games. That fire killed four tributes. She heard them scream from her spot in the shallows of a river. She never let her hair grow out again.

For me, my mark is across my chest. Three circular scars. I got them when I was in the arena and the last competitor – my female counterpart from 4 – got a hold of my trident and stabbed me with it.

I wonder what Annie's will be – assuming she gets out alive.


	4. Preparation

**Preparation**

(ANNIE)

"Tilt your head down," Finnick says softly. Gently, he places his hand on my chin and tugs it down. "There."

I breathe deeply through my mouth. I'm not at all used to his close proximity. And I'm definitely not used to that gentleness in his voice.

"Now, relax," he says.

_Good idea. But that's kind of hard to do when _you're_ so close_ . . .

"Okay," I say. I keep breathing deeply, trying to relax.

He clears his throat and lowers his eyelids, mimicking Caesar Flickerman. "So Annie, tell these good folks how it feels to be a tribute?"

I smile. "Pretty damn good."

"It gets better," Finnick assures me. "Once you win – which you _will_, by the way – you can have anything you want."

I hide behind my bangs and quietly say, "I don't believe that."

"What? That you'll win?"

I shake my head. "You can fool the rest of Panem, but you can't fool me. You're miserable."

He stares at me and I think I've crossed a line. I think he's going to get mad and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about.

But he doesn't.

"How did you know that?" he asks, shocked.

I shrug. "My mother called it intuition. My brother, Britton, calls it being nosy and freaky." I lean forward. "So what did they do to you?"

Finnick purses his lips and looks me over for a moment.

"President Snow is a sick bastard," he says nonchalantly. "He sells certain victors – like me – to high paying customers,"

"He makes you a prostitute," I paraphrase.

Finnick taps his nose twice. "You're clever. But I'm afraid your brother is right."

I snort. "About what?"

"You are nosy and freaky,"

I smile. "And proud of it, babe,"

He laughs again and it's such a perfect laugh that all my anxiety is wiped away.

"But," he continues. "You're also very smart. And sweet."

I blush. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Odair."

Finnick chuckles again and returns to mocking Caesar. "What do you think of the – eh-hem – attractive and talented Finnick Odair?"

Grinning, I answer: "He's sweet. But he's a bit narcissistic for my taste."


	5. Interview

**Interview**

(FINNICK)

I sit next to Johanna offstage.

She's in some provocative brown dress – if you can even call it that. It's so revealing that it's more like a towel. A hand-towel.

But who am I to talk? I'm in a suit and a button down shirt. It's pretty simple. But those stupid stylists won't let me button it all the way. Why don't they just send me out there in the buff and say, "Here you go, world!"

As I sit beside her, Johanna looks up.

"What. Are. You. Wearing?" She demands. "I think I see a nipple, Finnick."

I roll my eyes. "Don't try to act like you're not impressed."

The other mentors gather near us, some standing, some sitting.

"Hey, Finnick," says Gloss.

Gloss – despite his awful name – is a pretty cool guy. He's got brown hair streaked with blond, hazel eyes, and an average build. He's nice enough, but totally spineless. He lets his older sister, Cashmere, boss him around.

"Hello," I reply, patting black velvet seat beside me. He sits. "That female tribute is . . . I don't even know."

Johanna smiles and cocks her head to the side. "Yeah, the Hunger Games need more hookers. Adds to the excitement of it all."

Gloss opens his mouth to say something when the anthem starts.

A yellow Caesar Flickerman takes the stage. He tells a couple of jokes to get the audience's attention and calls his first tribute to the stage.

Her name is Shine. Straight golden hair sprouts from the top of her head and extends all the way to her waist. She's seventeen, and that means she's fair game for anyone who wants her. Her dress is all sorts of metallic colors, strung seamlessly together by the Capitol's best stylists.

Shine isn't very interesting, but with a body like hers, she doesn't have to be.

Next up is her male counterpart, Talon. His dark hair is cropped short over his giant ears. Right from the get-go, it's obvious he's not the brightest kid. Still, he manages to keep the audience's attention with his wolf-eyes and mystifying deep voice. I can't say I'm sad to see him go as he returns to his seat.

The tributes from District 2 are so alike in appearance, they could be siblings. Both have reddish-brown hair as thick as fur, intoxicating eyes, and tight clothes. They're names are Egma and Balinor, and it's obvious that they're ecstatic about being in the Games.

The pair from 3 are so boring, it's sad. I don't even bother to memorize their names, which sound suspiciously like household appliances.

Then, it's Annie. She saunters onto the stage, silver dress flowing out behind her. That dark hair falls to her shoulders in carefully-placed coils. She's . . . Gorgeous.

Caesar greets her with a kiss on the cheek, as if they're old friends. They each lounge back in their chair, one leg neatly folded over the other, hands clasped on their knees. I always thought it was funny how Caesar sits like a girl.

"So, Annie, tell us what it feels like to be a tribute," says Caesar.

"So far, so good," Annie replies. "All the other tributes have been very nice. But I guess that'll change when we all grab swords and have at it."

Caesar leads the audience in a few seconds of laughter.

"Annie, during the Opening Ceremonies, when you first came out . . ." Caesar says, shaking his head. "I thought I'd just seen an angel."

What did her costume look like? I wasn't exactly paying attention. It was some white toga-thing. That's all I can recall about it. But I remember thinking she looked pretty.

"Thanks," says Annie. "My stylists are absolutely amazing."

It continues like this for awhile. Caesar asks a question, Annie gives an answer. Every now and then, there's some laughter.

Clearing his throat, Caesar leans in. "What do you think of your mentor, Finnick Odair?"

Yes, Annie. What _do_ you think of Finnick?

Annie sucks in a breath from her polished lips and gets out: "He definitely knows what he's doing – when it comes to the Games, at least."

A huge round of laughter sweeps through the audience. I even laugh a bit, myself.

"What's your favorite part of the Capitol?" Caesar asks once he's recovered from the laughter.

I realize that I've underestimated Annie. We all have. I come to this conclusion when she says, "The people."

Before Caesar can respond, the buzzer goes off and Annie returns to her seat.

Asper is up next. Although he's not attractive like Annie, he's just as charming.

The interviews continue and I make a mental note of certain tributes: The pair from 7, Gad and Anglica. Rowan from 10. And finally, a boy named Tachs from District 12.

He's stick-thin, as tall as I am, and he has to fight to see Caesar from under his wild brown hair. He's too calm for a tribute from 12. But there he is. Joking his way through the interview, cleverly avoiding questions that have to do with his seven in training, or how he feels about being a tribute. Anything of that nature, really.

When it's over, I hop in the elevator with Annie.

I open my mouth to say something, but I never get it out. Because Annie stands on her tiptoes and kisses me.


	6. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

(ANNIE)

_What did I just do_?

All I remember is getting off of the stage and into an elevator with Finnick. That's all.

But here I am, my arms wrapped around his neck, his around my waist. And we're kissing.

At the exact moment the elevator doors open, I break off from Finnick. He stares at me with those eyes and all of a sudden, I don't want to go.

I open my mouth, but the words get caught in my throat. I turn and jog down the hall, right past Brae, who is just as stunned as I am. I really hope she hasn't seen the whole thing. But with my luck lately, I'm sure she has.

The door slams shut behind me and I peel off my dress, tossing it into a corner. I crumble on the ground and cover my ears.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I hiss.

By the time I pull myself together, dinner is being served. I throw on my clothes from training and head out.

Asper is the only person that I look in the eye. My eyes can't even go near the opposite side of the table, where I know Finnick is watching me.

Our Avoxes serve us dinner.

I scarf it down and drink as much water as I can hold. I'll need to keep my strength up in the arena. Plus, it's an excuse for my silence.

" . . . Did I miss something?" Asper asks.

Our heads all turn towards him. His gray-green eyes flicker from me, to Brae, to Finnick, and back.

"Nothing," says Finnick.

"Definitely not," Brae agrees.

Asper looks at me. He knows I'll give him the truth.

I mouth the words: _I'll tell you later._

The moment the Avoxes take away my plate, I dash from the table and lock myself in my room.

No sleep. Watch the city's movements. Every person in the Capitol is making arrangements with their friends to watch the Games.

Somebody knocks on my door. I don't respond. It swings open and Finnick comes in, holding a mug of hot chocolate.

"It'll help you sleep," he explains, setting it down on my bedside table.

"Thank you," I say softly.

Finnick sits beside me on the bed. I can tell he's looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the window, on the bustling city.

This city has existed since long before I was born. And it will continue for ages after I die.

I want someone to miss me when I die. I guess my brother will, but he'll get better – it may take some time, but one day, he'll be fine again.

"Annie," Finnick begins. I almost forgot he was there. "Promise me something."

I turn and stare into his eyes. I'll miss those eyes . . .

"Anything," I say.

"Promise me you'll win."

"I promise," I say.

When I think about it, it's strange how quickly I agreed. No questions asked. No _"I'll try my hardest, but I can't make any promises."_ I told him I'd win. And now I have to.

Finnick smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

He leans in, tilting his head just so.

"You should go," I say. We're so close that when I speak, our lips brush.

I want to kiss him, really – but if I do, than I know it'll make it that much harder to leave in the morning.

Finnick drops his hand and pulls away slowly. "Good night, then."

"Good night."

He pauses at the door. "I'll . . . I'll see you around."

Just like that, he's gone. I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, my stylists are waking me up.

A hovercraft takes us to the arena. Once I'm in the Launch Room, the stylists stick me in a shower that leaves me smelling like wildflowers.

When I come back, my head stylist, Beest, is the only one left in the room. My prep team has fled to their televisions so they won't miss a thing.

Beest pulls my wavy hair into a braid and opens the package containing my uniform.

This year, we've been given off-white, collared shirts with your given district's crest over the left chest and the district number on the upper-right sleeve. The pants are gray and tight. They tuck into a pair of knee-high combat boots with extra-grippy soles.

"Would you like something to eat?" asks Beest. His metallic hair shines in the fluorescent lights. It's so bright, I squint.

"No, thanks," I say.

He shoves a tall glass of water towards me. "At least drink."

So I do. I drink as much as I can hold before a doctor injects the tracker in my left forearm and hustles me onto the metal plate.

"Good luck!" Beest calls.

The plate is enclosed by a cylinder and I can't see. It's too dark.

When it's light again, I can see where I am: an abandoned city street, buildings looming all around me. I look at the ten-story building in front of me and I can just make out the golden Cornucopia.

In total, there are eight of us lined up. To my left is Tachs from 12. On my right is Gad, his right is Shine, her right is the boy from 3, then the boy from 8,the girl from 11, and the girl from 6.

The booming voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes throughout the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventieth Hunger Games begin!"


	7. First Kill

**Okay, people! First: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Second: I'm greedy, so the more reviews I get, the faster I will post a new chapter. Third: This story will continue after Annie wins. Actually, I think it'll go until the beginning of the following Games. Finally: I might write a version of Finnick's Games depending on whether or not you guys think I should. (I don't want to write something if nobody's going to read it.)**

**First Kill**

(ANNIE)

One single, lonely, isolated minute.

That's how long we have to stay on our plates. Move, and you're blown to bits by mines.

A minute isn't _that_ long. But when you're about to enter a bloodbath, it's a lifetime.

I look around. Weapons, water bottles, cups, utensils, clothes, and medicine lie all around us. Orange packs hang off of the building before us, threatening to fall and crush the lifesaving supplies within.

The closer you get to the Cornucopia, the more valuable the supplies are. If there are half-gallon bottles of water, burn cream, and rope three feet away from us, it makes you wonder what the Cornucopia holds.

Tachs meets my eye and winks. Gad doesn't even pay attention. Shine nods at me.

_Shine is your ally_, I remind myself. _She'll help _you_ and you'll help _her_._

I look around and catch sight of a shiny bit of gold on the roof of the building before me. I think it's the Cornucopia.

Are we expected to scale this building to reach it? I guess so. That explains the grippy-shoes.

The gong sounds and we collectively surge forward, leaping onto the cold limestone and clawing our way up.

Tachs calmly grabs the supplies around our plates and moves west, humming some obnoxious song as he moves.

I have to keep moving.

The other tributes are not having as much luck as I am on their way to the top: Gad takes his time and it becomes obvious that he may be strong and huge, but he's very slow. The girl from 11 is nearly as fast as I am. I've lost track of the boys from Districts 6 and 8, but they can't _possibly_ be ahead of me.

Keep moving.

I slip up a few times and nearly fall off the structure at around the sixth story. Falling to my death is definitely not the way I want to die.

Keep moving.

When they're at the fourth story, Shine gets in a fight with the boy from 3. They claw at each other's faces for a few moments before Shine manages to grab him by the collar and rip him from the building. He falls to the unforgiving street below.

But he's not dead. He is writhing in a pool of his own blood, whimpering and moaning and I _can't stand it_.

Keep moving.

By the time I reach the building's roof Asper, the pair from 5, and the girl from 7 – Anglica – are already there.

Anglica tries to grab Asper, but he's too quick. He manages to climb up the Cornucopia before she gets within a foot of him.

Keep moving.

When he catches sight of me, his eyes widen. He raises his hand and points to something above my head. "Annie, watch out!"

Something hits me from behind and I black out.

I don't know how long I've been out. When I wake up, I have a splitting headache. I reach out with one hand, then the other and slowly pull myself forward on my stomach.

Have to keep moving.

_What happened_? I ask myself. In my head, Finnick's voice responds: You were hit in the head, Annie. You have to move now, Annie.

"ANNIE!" yells Asper. It's something between a cry for help a cry of joy. Either way, it's a cry for me.

Somehow, I pull myself onto my feet.

Keep moving.

Gad has gotten his hands on a double-sided ax and is swinging it at Asper. Asper dodges it, and the ax lands in a mess of pipes. Gad rips it out, leaving the pipes sharper than spears.

They continue this little dance of sorts. Their steps are: swing, dodge, rip, swing. It's fairly simple, but the pace they're going at is making my head spin.

There's a dead body beside me. It's the girl from 11, with a knife stuck through her heart. It's sickening, but I rip it out and run towards Gad.

Keep moving.

I launch myself at him, jumping onto his back as I sink the knife hilt-deep into his right shoulder. I drop off and step back.

Unfazed, Gad turns to face me, holding the ax in one hand. He rips the knife out of his shoulder with his left hand and tosses it aside.

I did not think this one through . . .

"Asper! Weapon!" I yell.

Gad raises the ax above his head and I think I'm going to die. Yep, definitely going to die.

"_ASPER_!" I shriek.

Asper pries up one of the pipes that was broken and tosses it to me. I catch it along the side and position it against the ground.

I'm still not totally sure what I'm doing, but I guess that's natural in a situation like this. At least, I hope it is.

Gad advances a few steps before I jam the pipe into his chest. His ax falls to the side as he gasps for air. I twist the pipe in a clockwise motion and plunge it in farther.

Move back.

He wraps his hands around the pipe and pulls it out with a sharp cry. Slowly, he moves towards me, but I shove him down, right over the edge of the building.

By the time Gad hits the ground, he's dead. He lands in the thick crimson pool beside the boy from District 3.

Their corpses will keep each other company until the hovercrafts come for them. The Capitol will put them in pretty white outfits and mail them home to their families.

In a matter of days, 23 of us will go through the exact same motions.

"Thanks," says Asper. I'd forgotten he was there.

"No problem," I say. But I'm panting like a dog and my head _hurts_. "Did you see what hit me?"

Asper nods. "Gad got you. With his fist."

"Then I'm glad I got rid of him," I say.

I'm not glad at all. I'm not . . . _anything_.

This doesn't feel like it's happening, just like it's part of a dream. A dream that I may never wake from.

Asper and I slowly move over to the Cornucopia as the cannons start. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Six? The bloodbath usually wipes out half the tributes. Six doesn't sound quite right.

Egma mirrors my thoughts, asking "Only six?" as she emerges from the Cornucopia. "That's so weird . . . Who were they?"

Talon and Balinor grab bodies by their arms and legs and toss them over the side of the building. They're both laughing slightly, but I don't know why. I catch sight of Shine, who is wiping away somebody else's blood with her sleeve.

"I took out that boy from District Three," Shine says. "And I think that dude from District Seven killed Annie."

"I'm right here," I snap.

She whips around. "I thought you were dead!"

"Nope. I killed _him_," I say, flopping down on the ground.

Asper helps Egma sort supplies into packs: medicine, food, water, etc. while I gently poke at the lump forming on my head.

"Who else is dead?" I ask.

"The girls from Ten and Eleven," says Talon. "And Balinor shot the boy from Five."

"Shot?" Asper asks.

"With a bow and arrow," says Balinor. "Sadly, they don't allow guns. That makes five. Who else?"

"Probably the girl from Twelve," Talon says after much thought.

Egma looks at him. "Probably?"

"I strangled her pretty bad . . ." he says, rubbing his neck.

We break out in uncomfortably laughter.

I look around the arena and see a randomly placed river that slices the arena in half. When I look up, I see that we're enclosed by a smooth stone wall that must be twenty stories high.

We divide up weapons: Egma gets the two spears, Balinor gets the bow and arrows, Talon gets two swords and a knife, Shine gets a very intimidating mace, Asper gets a blowgun complete with razor-sharp darts, and I get these weird metal four-finger-rings that end in spikes.

I'm not sure what it is, but the spikes are sharp enough to leave holes in the Cornucopia. I decide to call them "knuckles" for lack of a better name.

No sooner have we settled in to eat than a silver parachute comes floating down at my feet. Inside is an orange pill bottle with a white lid. The label reads: ANNIE CRESTA. DO NOT TAKE MORE THAN TWO EVERY FOUR HOURS.

I guess it's for my head, which is killing me. I drop two of the yellow capsules into my palm and swallow them.

"Thanks, Finnick," I say to the sky.


	8. Secrets

**This isn't the best chapter. Deal with it. . . . Thank you for reading, though . . .**

**Secrets**

(FINNICK)

Technically, I'm not supposed to have people in my rooms at the Training Center. But I never get in trouble for it. Because the only people I bring are my patrons. So Snow gives me a pardon. As if it's _my_ choice to bring wave after wave of nymphomaniacs into my room.

Tonight's highest bidder is Alecta Saurel. Alecta is only twenty-two, and she's been my patron ever since I became eligible for purchase. She's a regular customer, renting me out at least once a year.

"So?" I start, propping myself up on my elbow. I brush her hair back, which usually has them spilling their guts faster than I can keep up. "What do you have for me?"

"It's a big one this year," she says excitedly.

"The anticipation is killing me."

"Promise not to tell?"

"Who am I going to tell?" I ask, slightly agitated. Why won't she just spit it out?

"Alright," says Alecta. She sits up and so do I. "Are you ready?" I nod. "President Snow is a murderer!" Her tone suggests that she's a little girl, telling her best friend about kissing a boy.

"Come again?" I say.

"He poisons them. His enemies, even his allies. The ones that he thinks could rise up against him."

I'm having some trouble digesting this, but I want to hear more – I want to hear everything she knows. "Wow. How has nobody figured it out?"

"They did," she says, twisting her fiery hair between her fingers. "But he drank his own poison a few years back to divert suspicion."

Okay. I think I understand. "Is that why he smells so weird?"

Alecta nods. "The antidote didn't work properly. Now he's got sores in his mouth that'll never heal. That's why he smells like blood. He uses those awful flowers to try and cover the smell."

"That makes sense," I say. "All of it."

It does. I know I should be shocked, but I'm not. Not in the _slightest_.

This is the man who killed my mother and my two little brothers in one day. All because I didn't want to sleep with strange women.

Before I can ask any questions, she shushes me and turns up the volume on the television.

The cameras are trained on the Careers. Talon and Asper are keeping watch, but they see something strange.

"Annie?" Asper calls. He shakes her until she wakes up.

"What? What is it?" she asks, obviously annoyed.

Asper points to the east, where five massive creatures are moving towards them.

"Birds?" Talon guesses.

"They're too big to be birds," says Asper.

"Mutts," Annie breathes. "Get the others up."

They do.

The mutts are close now, very close, and it's obvious that they're some sort of bird. They look like hawks three times the size of a full-grown man.

"Every man for himself?" suggest Annie. They all look at her. "Of _course_ not," she mumbles.

"If we get separated, we'll meet up there," Egma says. She points to a street corner a few miles down the river.

"So far away?" Asper asks. "Shouldn't we pick somewhere closer?"

"If they're a real threat, we'll want to put some distance between us and them," says Talon. He smiles, pleased with himself for figuring it out with no outside help. What an idiot.

They all agree on the meeting point, shoulder a couple of supply packs, and draw their weapons.

Balinor frees an arrow from his bow, aimed at the closest mutt. The creature he fired at catches it in his claws.

Alecta makes a little noise of excitement.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" I snap at her. "These kids are about –"

She shushes me again and gestures to the television. "I'm trying to watch!"

"RUN!" Shine screeches.

The birds dip down, trying to grab the Careers by the collars of their shirts. They manage to get out of the way in time, but they're separated now.

Talon and Egma jump from their roof to the one of the building next door. They keep going like this until they're out of sight.

Shine simply vanishes, dropping out of the camera's scopes. Some of the cameras turn and spin, trying to get a visual on her again.

The others make for the Cornucopia for cover as the birds circle back around.

Asper isn't fast enough, though, and one of them grabs him by the collar.

"Annie!" he yells.

Annie grabs his arms and yanks him straight out of the bird's talons – but it's not a clean rip. The mutt's claws drag down his back and thick red blood pours out of three fresh gashes.

But he's in the Cornucopia with the Annie and Balinor now.

Annie clamps her hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming (and tipping off the mutts to their position.)

The mutts figure this out on their own by circling the building for several minutes, letting out shrill cries as they search for the Careers.

They're far back enough that the birds can't get at them, but the mutts drag rake claws across the Cornucopia in frustration, tearing half of the horn to shreds.

Balinor gestures to the tip of the Cornucopia, over twenty feet above them. There's a hole just big enough to fit through.

Annie takes Balinor's weapons and Balinor throws a half-conscious Asper over his shoulder.

After a slippery climb upwards, they slip through the opening undetected. Silently, they climb down the side of the building and make for the rendezvous point.

Two of the birds are so pissed off that they grab the Cornucopia, pour out the supplies, and toss it all the way into the river, where it immediately submerges.

I don't really care about the birds. I only care that Annie is alright – and Asper, of course. Why wouldn't I be concerned about my tributes' survival? Right?

"Well, that's annoying," says Alecta. "I thought there would be a death."


	9. Hideout

**Hideout**

(ANNIE)

"Son of a bitch," I mutter. "Well, that's just great!"

The bird-mutts are still on the roof of our building, shrieking and picking through the supplies and scraps of metal left behind.

Balinor and I drop our things on the ground and lay Asper on a bed of packs.

"We won't reach the rendezvous point," Asper murmurs. "Not when I can barely walk."

"He's right," I say. "And I can hardly stand myself." I reach into my pocket, pull out the pill bottle Finnick sent me, and take two.

"So, what?" Balinor asks. "You want to make camp here?"

"No, not here. Maybe in one of these buildings," I say, waving my hand at the concrete structures around us.

"What if there are more mutts?" Asper asks.

He tries to sit up, but I push him down on the packs. "You'll start bleeding again, nimrod." It could be an insult, but my voice is so weak it sounds more like a plea.

Balinor looks around. "I don't know if there will be more mutt attacks tonight. But there's a good chance of tributes." He ruffles his red-brown hair, deep in thought.

"All the more reason to take cover," I say.

I manage to bring them around and – after a thorough investigation of the surrounding rooms – we settle in for the night. Our room is fairly large with windows so dirty you can't see through them.

"I'm going to head up to the roof and see what's happening," I announce.

"Don't be stupid," Balinor says dismissively. "You're not going up there."

I ignore him. "If I'm not back in five minutes," I say over my shoulder "just wait a little longer!"

I move through the building quickly and quietly. I have a knife, now. And I use it to chip away bits of green paint on every corner I move around.

Finally, I reach the staircase. It's steep and narrow and made of wood. I'm as quiet as I can possibly be. But about six stairs up, the steps groan in protests. They shouldn't, though. I'm not heavy enough to cause those noises. And they're coming a few seconds after I move . . .

When I turn around, I find Tachs from 12 standing a few steps beneath me. But he's so tall that he still has to look down on me.

Before I can react, he gets me in a headlock with his hand clamped over my mouth. His sword is in his free hand, but it's not pointed at me.

I can't see his face because he's got me with my back to him.

Tachs drags me backwards down the steps and through a door, kicking it shut once we're through.

"Shh," he says quietly. "You'll get us both killed."

He releases me to look through the keyhole. I'm shocked silent and frozen in my place. Why hasn't he killed me yet?

"Over here!"

"Did you see him?"

"No. It's like he disappeared . . ."

"He has to be around here somewhere. Come on!"

The voices and their owners fade into the distance.

Tachs slides onto the ground, leaning against the door. He curses and cracks a smile, somehow relieved. "Well, that was close," he says. He looks up at me, smiling. "Anglica and the pair from Ten," he explains.

My mouth is open. I search through his mop of brown hair for his eyes, for a _real_ explanation.

"I may or may not have pissed in their water supply," Tachs continues, sheathing his sword.

It's kind of hard to form words. "You . . . _peed_ . . . in their . . . water?"

"May or may not have," he says again. He jumps to his feet and gets right up in my face, raising one eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

Finnick's voice is back in my head: Say something, Annie!

Finally, I choke out "Why didn't you kill me?"

"I was in a hurry," says Tachs, like it's the most obvious thing in the history of time.

It's still a fight to form words. "Why don't you kill me now?"

"Eh. I don't really feel like it." He pulls a small canteen from his belt and shoves it towards me. "Thirsty?"

I just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"It's not contaminated," he says. To prove it, he takes a huge swig.

"I could kill you, you know," I say.

"But you won't," says Tachs. The corner of his thin mouth pulls into a cocky grin. "See, now that we've engaged in conversation, your humanity will win out."

"Don't be so sure," I spit.

"My name is Tachs. I am seventeen. I have two brothers, a father, and a girlfriend who are waiting for me back home."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He crosses the room and gets up in my face again. "Because now, you feel guilty, so you won't kill me, and I won't kill you unless you try to kill me, so I guess we're both going to survive this one. Right?"

I pull my eyebrows together. I think that's the longest sentence I've ever heard anyone say. And maybe it's the head injury, but he's not making sense. "Are you trying to play mind games with me?"

"Is it working?"

I would hit him, but my hand won't respond. What is wrong with this kid? Why hasn't he killed me? And who pisses in somebody's water?

We size each other up for a few seconds before Tachs runs over to the window, throws it open, and straddles the windowsill.

"What are you doing now?" I demand.

As if in response, the door flies open. Balinor is there, his arrow pointed at the open window.

"Who the hell was that?" he demands, lowering his bow slightly.

When I turn my head to the window, I find that Tachs is gone.

I sigh, shaking my head. "I don't know."


	10. Blood

**This chapter is really depressing and gory. Yes, my friends. It is that chapter. Asper dies in this . . .**

**Blood**

(FINNICK)

Johanna and I move slowly down the hall, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

She's in a surprisingly good mood today. She's . . . _Smiling_. Ignoring the fact that her nails are thoroughly un-bitten.

I haven't seen her this happy in years. It's a refreshing break from her usual cynicism and sarcasm.

"What's gotten into you?" I ask.

"I don't know," she says. "I'm just really . . . giddy today."

"Giddy?"

"Yes, Finnick!" says Johanna, laughing. "Giddy!"

"I see. And what brought on this bought of giddiness?"

We're just outside the Observation Room when Haymitch bursts out of the door, fist clutching a half-empty bottle of liquor to his chest.

"I can't watch," he whispers.

Well, that can't be good.

I stand still for a moment, trying to absorb what he's saying when Johanna grabs me by the hand and quite literally drags me into the room.

Now we're sitting on a velvet couch right in front of the television, Beetee on my right.

On screen, a pair of beaten, bloody children are pried off the ground by hands with even bloodier knuckles. Annie and Asper are the children; the bloody hands belong to the Careers.

Talon grabs a half-conscious Annie behind the arms and loops his hands back behind her head. On the far wall, her light is flickering, threatening to go out.

Asper is still fighting, though. I didn't know someone so small could put up such a fight.

Balinor tries to get him by the neck as Shine gets his hands, but Asper shoves his head forward at the last second. Balinor's nose responds with a sickening crack as blood begins to gush from it.

"Hold him!" Egma cries. She picks up a sword from the ground and limps toward him, wincing as the sword becomes too heavy for her broken fingers.

Shine secures his hands behind his back and Balinor knots his finger's in Asper's silver hair, forcing his head away from his body.

"Balinor," Annie gasps. "You were my friend."

"Somebody has to win, Annie," he hisses. "I'm just doing what I have to in order to get home."

Egma raises her sword above Asper's head as he and Annie yell for one another.

Her sword comes down hard on the back of his neck, but his cries don't stop. Between her weakness and Asper's fighting, Egma has failed to sever Asper's head.

More screaming follows, as well as an ocean of blood as Egma raises and drops her sword seven more times.

Asper's screams aren't wordless, no – they are a mix of cries for help, for Mama, and finally, for them to kill him. It abruptly cuts off with a gurgling noise as Asper begins to drown in his own blood.

Finally, mercifully, Asper's head rolls to Annie's feet, leaving a river of blood to follow.

On the far wall, his light switches off and I know that his suffering is over. His _life_ is over.

Why? Why didn't anyone volunteer for him at the reaping? We're a _Career_ district! There are plenty of eligible boys who could've taken his place!

No, that's not fair. I'm not being fair.

I knew that he would die from the moment his name was called. I chose to try and bring Annie home. I'm just as responsible for his death as anyone.

My mind is going numb.

In the arena, the group is taking a moment to swallow it all before they finish off Annie. I can only pray that she won't suffer too much.

But Annie has other plans.

Talon's knife is tucked into his belt. Annie stomps on his foot, grabbing the knife as he instinctively releases her.

She drags the blade across his throat and blood pours from his neck. When Talon falls to the ground, Shine screams for him and runs over to where he's writing on the ground she holds his head in her lap as he dies.

She completely ignores Annie, who is tossing her knife at Egma.

Egma dies immediately.

A knife in the temple is far too easy a death for her. It's one free of pain and fear. But it's death all the same.

Annie takes off in a run for the edge of the building.

Blood is everywhere now. On the ground, on faces, on clothes and hands and weapons. There's so much of it, too – Annie's, Asper's, Talon's, Egma's, everyone's.

Balinor manages to land three arrows into Annie's left side before she dives over the edge of the building, seemingly to her death.

The cameras circle her as she falls.

She hits the ground and no, it's not ground at all. It's that out-of-place river.

Annie is alive. Annie is alive.

The current carries her downstream for a few miles before she pulls herself up onto the street, where she becomes violently sick.

Once it's done, she begins to sob. It's the most heartbreaking thing I've ever heard. I want to rip off my ears just to escape the sound of those whimpers.

She draws the arrows out of her side, one at a time. She makes no noise of pain, even as she rips out one that was lodged into the bone of her hip.

She does continue to cry, though. I don't think she can stop it. Once she flicks aside the arrows, she goes into the fetal position, clamping her hands over her ears.

For hours, the cameras search for a source of entertainment for the audience. But there's nothing.

There's only Annie, moving mindlessly through the streets, looking for shelter. There's only Shine and Balinor, wrapping their wounds. There's only the other tributes, scouring for water and a meal.

It's after dark when Annie finally collapses from blood loss.

She's not alone for long, though.

Tachs of 12, whistling as he walks, crosses paths with her. He calmly sets his pack on the ground and squats beside her.

Checks her for any supplies, but the only thing she's got is the bottle of pills that I sent her, which he quickly returns to her pocket.

Notices that her blood-soaked hands are pressed against her side. Reaches across her and lifts her shirt a bit, looking for the source of the blood. He makes a gagging noise when he sees it and quickly replaces her shirt.

Then, Tachs gets the bright idea to check her pulse.

"That's interesting," he mumbles once he realizes she's alive. "What am I going to do with you?"

He looks around for a moment before shouldering his pack, looping his arms under her knees and back, lifting her off the ground, and walking away with her in his arms.

He's still whistling that little tune.


	11. Allies

**Thank you guys so much for reading and reviewing! (Keep it up, please. I'm greedy.) Also, this isn't a particularly good chapter. But bear with me. I swear that the next few chapters after this will blow your mind! And I'll probably post the next chapter sooner – if I get enough reviews *hint-hint***

**Allies**

(ANNIE)

The first thing I realize when I wake up is how comfortable I am. I'm lying on a big leather couch, covered in a sleeping bag.

Then I realize where I am. It looks like the lobby of a building. An empty elevator shaft lies to my left and across the room, there's another couch. With another person on it.

"Good morning, sunshine." Standing over me is Tachs.

There's a white jar in one of his hands, a canteen in the other. I try to sit up, but my side hurts too much.

"Don't try to sit up," says Tachs gently. He drops to his knees beside me and offers the canteen. "Drink, there's nothing in it. I just saved your life," he says. "Why would I try to poison you?"

So I take the canteen and drink the whole thing. The water is nice and cold.

Tachs unscrews the top of the white jar. Within is an opaque white paste. Tachs pulls up the side of my shirt and spreads the paste on a huge wound on my hip. I don't fight him, mostly because the paste alleviates the pain.

"Do you remember how you got this?" he asks.

No. I don't remember. I'm about to shake my head when an image of silver hair, matted with blood enters my mind.

The head. If it can even by called that. Cuts all over. Blood everywhere. Screaming, someone is screaming . . .

I clamp my hands over my ears to try and block out that awful noise.

"Whoa, whoa," Tachs says gently. He pulls away my hands. "It's all right. I'm sorry. Forget I brought it up. Okay?"

I manage to nod.

"Are you going to speak at all?" he asks. I just stare at him. "I'll take that as a 'no.' That's okay. I'll talk enough for the both of us."

And sure enough, he does.

Over the next six days, Tachs fills every waking second by haranguing me with fun facts or a story from his childhood. It's incredibly annoying, but at the same time, I'm grateful for it. I want to talk, but it's like I can't find my voice. And every moment he's speaking provides a distraction.

But when I sleep . . .

My dreams are dominated by images. Asper screaming, Egma with a knife between her eyes, the bloodthirsty look Balinor wore – they're all there, all the time.

I miss Finnick. I wish _he_ was in my dreams.

Life with Tachs is fairly boring compared to the three days I spent as a Career. There's much less food. We're lucky to get a tiny roll of bread from our sponsors, or find something while we wander. It becomes easy to count my ribs and see every knot on my spine.

But somehow, Tachs always manages to keep a fresh supply of water. I don't know how he does it. It's always cold, too. I'm sure there's some sort of water purifier in his monumental green pack, which I have come to know as 'The Bag of Mysteries.'

Still, our biggest problem is the fact that our only weapon is a single sword. We don't cross paths with the other tributes often.

What's worse, Tachs killed the female from District 10 while I was out. So now we have her allies to deal with in addition to Shine and Balinor. Fun.

At around dawn on the sixth day, we stop inside a big building for lunch.

The building is really creepy. Its halls are decorated with suits of armor, the floors are polished marble, and massive pillars hold up the high vaulted roof.

We lean against a pillar and Tachs pulls out his canteen and a loaf of stale bread from home. He stabs it with the tip of his sword and begins to try cutting it in half.

"I've had worse than this," says Tachs, wiping his brow. "Back home, bread is a bit of a luxury." He hands me half of the green bread.

I like listening to stories about District 12. It's so different from home. At home, we have easy access to fish of all sorts – even seaweed, which we use as part of our bread (hence the green color.)

"But I hear bread makes you fat," Tachs continues, taking a huge bite of his piece. "No joke. And I can't afford to get fat. I mean, look at me. I'm a god."

I snort. _Yeah, you keep believing that, buddy_, I think.

"Are you laughing at me?" he demands, smiling. "How dare you mock –"

He's cut off by a loud creaking noise.

A suit of armor moves only the slightest bit. But that triggers it. The other suits start creaking, too. In unison, they step forward.

Tachs, ever the jokester, says, "I'm suddenly overcome by the urge to run for my life."

The suits turn to us, first their heads, then the rest of their bodies. They take one step forward, then another.

Tachs pulls his enormous pack over his shoulder and grabs me by the hand. We run down the hall, our footsteps echoing throughout the corridor.

We climb the slippery rotunda. When they reach the stairs, the suits of armor stop moving. We pause to watch as they draw spears and prepare to throw. I don't stick around for the rest.

The first spear lands in Tachs's upper back. He cries out. I stop, turn, and run back to him. He breaks off the spear's shaft, but he can't reach the head.

I put one arm around his waist and his around my shoulders. I pull him up the stairs as best as I can, but I can already tell my hip is bleeding again.

We're on the roof, now.

Tachs stuffs the spear's shaft through the door and arches his back over it. "Pull it out," he says.

. . . Excuse me?

"Are you deaf?" he asks. "I have a spear in my back. I'd get it myself, but I can't reach it. It hurts. Pull it out."

So I do. Just as I flick the spearhead away, a cannon blasts.

"Was that for me?" Tachs asks. He turns his head to the sky. "I'm not dead yet!"

I hit him in the stomach and he starts laughing.

Who could that have been?

Then the second cannon goes off.

"Damn," says Tachs. "That's twelve down."


	12. Luncheon

**Hopefully, this is semi mind-blowing. The next two or so chapters will be the most mind-blowing, I promise! . . . I also promise to find a synonym for "mind-blowing." (Perhaps "psychedelic?")**

**Luncheon**

(FINNICK)

It's tradition for the mentors of the final twelve tributes to have lunch in the courtyard of President Snow's mansion.

Sponsors are invited, too. And the District 4 tributes always have ample sponsors – most of them female. While the males sponsor for reasons unknown, the females do it for one reason and one reason alone: Discounts.

Discounts on _me_, to be exact.

While the price for one evening in my company is usually a rip-off, they get a small discount for sponsoring my tributes. And when they do, I make it a point to hate them slightly less. (They may be sponsoring for the wrong reasons, but they're helping my tributes all the same.)

Avoxes dash from table to table, pouring creepy old men wine and giving young ladies shots of all kinds.

I lean back in my wrought iron chair, popping seedless grapes into my mouth. Once again, my shirt is not fully buttoned.

Seven or so women – including Alecta – sit at the table with me, chatting about the latest breakthrough in cosmetic surgery or something.

Which one will keep me company tonight, I wonder? Or which _ones_. Plural.

"Excuse me, ladies," I say.

I stand up and walk over to the buffet, desperate for an escape. Johanna is there, piling fruits onto her too-small plate.

"Hello," I say.

She doesn't look up. Instead, she sighs and shovels sliced melons onto her plate. "I hate this. Look at that guy," she commands, pointing to a table clearly labeled DISTRICT SEVEN. The man she's pointing at is balding and pleasantly plump. "I was a reward for him last night."

I make a disgusted noise in the back of my throat. "Johanna, that sucks."

"Yeah. It does," she says. She glares up at me and stuffs a large chunk of yellow fruit in her mouth. "He's not even hot!" she mumbles through her mouthful.

That's something I can always count on Johanna for. No matter how bad something is, she isn't bothered by it for obvious reasons. Or if she is, she doesn't show it.

"Damn it," she says. "Where the hell are all the Avoxes? I need a drink."

"I'll get you one," I say.

I enter the main corridor of President Snow's mansion. I don't exactly know where I'm going; I've only been here for banquets. Still, wandering around in search of alcohol is better than socializing with those women.

Following my instincts – which are usually quite reliable – I end up in what can only be President Snow's office.

Obviously, I shouldn't be in here. But the cedar door slams shut behind me and there's no doorknob. I'm stuck in here. Fantastic.

I knock on the door. "Hello? Hello-o! Anybody there? I'm trapped in here. Anyone? Anyone? No? Superb,"

For a few minutes, I wander around the little office. I take the liberty of going through President Snow's desk. Most of the drawers are locked, save for one. Within it is a vile filled with clear liquid and a powder neatly folded into a piece of paper.

Before I can investigate further, the door is opening. There's a closet behind me. I leap in and look out through the keyhole. If I'm caught in here by the wrong person, there could be trouble.

President Snow enters, along with two men and a woman.

I recognize the first man immediately – Seneca Crane, head Gamemaker. I don't know the other two.

The other man is a big guy with tan skin and a dark beard and hair.

The woman faintly resembles the president – snake-eyes, pasty skin. But her lips are naturally full, unlike Snow's lips, which were altered with bad surgery. She must be one of President Snow's two daughters.

"It's not my fault!" insists Seneca.

"Uncle Cori," the other man says. "He hasn't done anything. The Gamemakers can't be blamed for what the tributes do in the arena."

"And look at _you_!" the woman snaps. "Don't you just know everything? You may be a Gamemaker, but you're still an idiot!"

"Narcissa, be quiet," the president says. "Plutarch, Seneca, you can go." They exit. "Narcissa, bring me Ezra."

Once his daughter goes, the president pulls both the powder and the liquid from the open drawer. He pours scotch into two crystal cups. He drinks the clear liquid and pours the power into both glasses.

In comes Ezra, the fat man that Johanna pointed out.

"Ezra, my friend," the president says cordially. "Thank you, Narcissa." His daughter nods and leaves. "Have a drink." He gestures to the cups, one before Snow, the other where Ezra will sit.

"Thank you," Ezra says. When Snow isn't looking, he grabs the president's glass and replaces it with his own. He's worried.

The president sits and they both drink in silence. Until Ezra starts coughing. He presses his fist over his mouth. When he pulls it away, he realizes that there's blood on it.

He coughs and coughs. Eventually, he falls on the floor and begins wheezing and vomiting and twitching. Then he dies.

Snow finishes his drink, straightens his tie, and gets back to the party. He leaves the body right there in his office.

I rush out of the closet and manage to grab the door before it shuts. I slip out.

"Finnick!" Johanna walks over to me. "Where the hell have you been?"

I grab her by the arm and pull her back towards the courtyard. "We have a problem."


	13. Last Stand

**I'm posting this so soon because I got tons of reviews. Thank you for that, by the way! This chapter is super gory and super sad. Read (and review. If you want. No pressure.) at your own risk. **

**Last Stand**

(ANNIE)

"I'm so hungry," says Tachs. "Do you have any of that bread left?"

I shake my head.

Tachs curses under his breath and drops his pack to the ground. He takes a huge drink from his canteen before passing it to me.

I give a nod of thanks and take a few tiny sips.

So hungry. What time is it – noon? And when was the last time I ate – two days ago?

"Still not talking?" Tachs asks doubtfully.

I shake my head again.

There's a loud crashing noise somewhere far-off. I rise and move forward a few steps to investigate. Tachs rises, too, but he doesn't move.

A small flock of bright red birds flies overhead, temporarily shielding my eyes from the sun's harsh glare. Other than that, I don't see anything.

"See anything?" he asks.

I'm about to shake my head when the pain comes. Words can't describe it. It's in my right hand. Warm stuff is on my fingertips. It's blood.

Lift up my hand to examine it. Straight through my palm is an arrow. The shaft is in my hand. The head sticks out one side, the fletching on the other.

"Annie!" Tachs cries.

I can't even move. The next arrow enters the right side of my chest. I know it's hit something – an artery, a lung – something vital.

Rip it out, gasping for breath. Break the arrow in half. Flick the bloody halves aside. Try to breathe. Start coughing. Taste blood. Taste blood.

There's the sound of metal-on-metal as Tachs draws his sword. And in a matter of seconds, one, two, three, four arrows are lodged in his torso.

Things move in slow-motion. Tachs is falling backwards. On a distant rooftop, Balinor is lowering his bow. Behind him, Shine looks pleased.

I collapse on my knees beside Tachs, who is writhing on the ground.

He tears one arrow from his stomach. I pull one out from between his ribs. Then, I remove the arrow by his liver. He yanks out an arrow that landed just beside his heart.

Start crying. Don't make a sound. Hand hurts. Chest hurts. Head hurts. Don't have any pills left. Cough. Taste blood.

"Are you _crying_?" Tachs says accusingly. "Why the hell are _you_ crying? You're not dying! _I'm_ dying! _I'm_ the one that's supposed to cry!"

I let out a tiny laugh.

He holds out one hand to me and I take it in both of mine.

"Annie, please promise me something."

I nod.

"Will you win?" he asks. "Please. You have to win."

Again, I nod.

Then Tachs showcases his honest talent – talking. "Do you know why I saved you?" I shake my head. "I picked you up off the street because you reminded me of my girlfriend." He looks towards the sun. "She's the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

I ignore the burning in my lungs and the searing pain in my hand. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand in a soothing motion.

Balinor and Shine will be here soon. When they come, they'll kill me. I should run. Run and hide. But I can't leave Tachs here. I won't.

I'll be with him while he dies. I couldn't hold Asper's hand. I couldn't help him. But I can help Tachs. I can hold his hand while he dies.

"She has this golden skin. And blonde hair. And this smile . . . it made me go weak at the knees," he says, smiling at the memory. "And her laugh – it's insane. When she laughs, you laugh. You can't help it. You can't fight it." His breathing is ragged.

Frantically, I brush that mop of brown hair out of his eyes. They're green-gray, like Asper's were. I never realized that before.

"You know what _really_ sucks?" Tachs asks. "I love her. And I never told her that." He manages to turn his head to me and look me in the eye. "You know, you never thanked me for saving your ass. You're welcome by the way." His eyes focus on something above my head. "You're welcome."

A cannon blasts.

I reach across him with my left hand and carefully shut his eyes with my thumb and forefinger.

It hurts. Everything hurts. It feels like my lungs are collapsing in on me – and they may well be.

I wrap my right arm around my chest and pull myself onto my feet.

What's my plan now? Run? Hide? I _can't_ run because I can't breathe and my hand hurts and my head is killing me and my left side is bleeding again and Tachs is dead and Asper is dead and I couldn't do a damn thing and I want to die.

Balinor said, "_Someone has to die."_ And _I_ will die. Even though I promised Tachs that I'd win – and Finnick.

Finnick. I almost forgot about him.

I hope he's not watching. I don't want him to see me like this.

Balinor and Shine are moving towards me.

I don't try to run. I don't want to. I want it to end. And in a matter of moments, it will.

Just as Balinor is notching an arrow on his bow, the ground begins to shake.


	14. Flood

**This is NOT the last chapter; it is, however, the last one in the arena. I hope you like it! I _greedily_ remind you to review. Please. I also want to give a special shout-out to Hbrooks, who drew an AMAZING picture of Asper – check it out: .com/art/Asper-189537639**

**Flood**

(ANNIE)

The shaking starts off easy, but gradually gets worse.

Buildings are crumbling. Huge fissures open up in the ground. Shrieking tributes are buried in the rubble. I attempt to keep breathing.

There is a lot of screaming. I've never heard so much screaming. Problem is, I can't tell if it's in my head or in real life.

When the shaking stops, the destruction stops with it.

Sort of.

Shine draws her spear. I think she's going to throw it at me, but she takes a completely different route. She buries it in Balinor's throat so far, it comes out the other side.

Cannon.

"RUN!" someone screeches. "THE DAM IS BREAKING! _RUN_!"

I didn't even know there _was_ a dam.

Still. If the dam is breaking, that means there will be a flood. Flood means water. Water means swimming. Swimming means enormous advantage for me.

"RUN!" the person shrieks again.

Being from District 4, I know that running won't do any good in a flood. The trick is getting to high ground.

The nearest building is only a few feet away. I fly in, glide up the stairs, and end up on the roof with a front row seat to the massacre.

Yes, the dam is, in fact, breaking. The smooth stone wall that encloses the arena apparently had a purpose: keep the tributes from drowning.

Well, now the water is coming in and fast. In seconds, it consumes buildings and swallows tributes whole.

My building isn't high enough. The water not only bubbles up around me, it knocks me down and drags me backwards.

I claw at the building, leaving a trail of blood from my wounded hand.

I'm taken under. And once underwater, I see my fellow tributes. Some are dead. Some are dying. And others – like me – can swim.

Shine and a girl that I don't recognize are struggling to get out of the way. The wave of water takes out a streetlamp, which turns sideways and flies towards them. They're pinned against a building, unable to move.

I can't hear cannons underwater anyway, so I can't tell if they're dead. But if they're not, they don't have long left. They will drown here. Unable to move. Unable to breathe.

Just when I think I'm going to die, my head breaks the water's surface and I suck in as much air as I can – which isn't very much at all.

The current carries me onwards for I don't know how long.

Eventually, I wash up on the roof of a building.

The Gamemakers started that earthquake, probably to kill a few people for fun. But I doubt they meant for the whole place to flood.

I start coughing up blood and water, water and blood. And I cry. And cover my ears. And curl up in a ball. And wait for the pain to stop. And wait to die.

Try to breathe. But I can't.

I'm nearly one hundred percent positive that Balinor's arrow punctured my lung.

Little black dots invade my vision.

_I CAN'T BREATHE_!

Not like this. I don't want to die like this. I was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory – or at least drown in the flood.

Cannons are in my head, shaking my brain and cracking my skull.

At least for once, those awful memories aren't dominating my mind. Even the cannons grow distant as one face consumes my thoughts.

I can just see it: that little smirk, squared-off jaw, dark hair with bronze highlights, and those exquisite blue-green eyes.

Finnick.

I try to think of how he won his Games; maybe there's something I can use – one of his strategies. But all I can remember is that while he kissed a girl, he stabbed her in the stomach. Once he killed her, he and his district partner were the only two left, I think.

What would've happened if Asper and I were the only ones left?

No. Wipe that thought out of my mind. I don't want to know.

What I want is to breathe. But I can't do that.

Cannon. Cannon. Cannon.

Numb. Numb. Numb.

Then they stop.

Screaming takes their place. This isn't frightened screaming, like the kind in my head. These screams are happy? Excited?

The screams are being transmitted straight from the Capitol.

I can't see anything. I can't feel anything – not even pain. I can't move.

Air . . . air. I need air. I need _air_!

Claudius Templesmith's voice fights through the cannons and the screams to say something. Something I never expected to hear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present your victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games: Annie Cresta of District Four!"

Oh.

I won.


	15. Wounded

**This chapter contains poorly-written fluff. But poorly-written fluff doesn't seem as poorly-written if the poorly-written fluff is reviewed. My stupidity aside, please review. And thanks for reading!**

**Wounded**

(FINNICK)

_Two cracked ribs, one collapsed lung, a pierced hand, fractured pelvis, major concussion, and serious emotional trauma._

I set Annie's medical report down on the coffee table, lean forward – elbows on my knees – and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. But I can't wipe those images away.

Who the hell was Ezra? Johanna said she was his reward. Why would the president reward a man at night and kill him in the morning?

And there's Annie to think of. She's been in surgery for almost three hours now. I only got a glimpse of her, but that was enough.

She was lying half-naked across a padded table, soaked in water and blood. There was a mask over her nose and mouth that connected to a tube on her working lung.

While the doctors wheeled her into the operation room, they began cutting into her. She made this appalling little noise and the doctors injected her with morphling. In their hurry, they'd "forgotten" to give her anesthetic.

"I come bearing coffee," Johanna says.

"And I come bearing scotch," adds Haymitch.

I look up.

Johanna is holding out a white mug to me. Behind her, Chaff and Haymitch are holding bottles of strong liquor – and a huge pile of sugar cubes.

"Thanks," I say. I accept the coffee from Johanna and the sugar cubes from Chaff. I drop the sugar cubes – about fifteen in all – into my coffee. Then I take a silver flask from him and pour out half of it into the sugar-coffee.

Chaff mutters something. I don't know what, but he sounds slightly impressed.

"So what time are you guys leaving tomorrow?" I ask.

The victor and their mentor remain in the Capitol for several days after the Games. The other mentors go home a day or so after the end.

"Noon," Johanna responds.

"We're going at dawn," Chaff says.

Just before I reach for my coffee, Haymitch exchanges ours. He takes mine into the bathroom and pours it down the sink.

Haymitch may be a hopeless alcoholic, but he doesn't want anybody else going down that road.

The night passes. Chaff and Haymitch go just before light. Johanna leaves an hour or two later for a last-minute "visit" with one of her patrons.

She squeezes my hand reassuringly. "It'll be okay, Finnick."

"Is this normal?" I ask. "I mean I've never had a victor before and I'm –"

"You're asking me?" Johanna says. Right. She's never had one, either.

A few minutes later, a nurse comes into my room. "Annie is awake. She'll be going back into surgery soon, but we thought you might like to see her."

That's an understatement.

Annie's hospital room has only her bed, a chair, and a small table – and of course, Annie herself.

She's facing away from me, but when she hears the door slide shut, she turns. She's smiling at me. But there are purple shadows under her hollow eyes . . .

I rush over to the side of her bed and sit on the chair.

"Are you okay?" I ask. That's a stupid question. She is obviously not okay.

Annie's green eyes flicker off to the side, then back to me. I look and see what she does: a tall glass of untouched water lies on the table.

"Are you thirsty?" I ask. Annie nods. I take the water with one hand and use my free arm to lift her into a sitting position.

The covers – previously pulled up to her chin – fall around her waist. She's not wearing anything, but the thick layer of bandages around her torso acts something like a shirt. Her right arm is also bandaged and in a sling.

With her left hand, Annie reaches for the cup. She puts her hand on it, trying to hold it, but I don't let go while she drinks. She's so weak she can't even sit up on her own; I have to keep supporting her.

When she's done, I set her back down on the bed. More for my comfort than hers, I hold her good hand and gently stroke her cheek with my fingertips.

"You're going to be all right," I say softly. "The doctors aren't done yet. They're going to make you better, Annie. I promise."

She doesn't seem convinced, but still gives me a reassuring smile.

The door slides open and that same nurse pokes her head in. "You have to go now, Mr. Odair," she tells me. "It's time for Annie's next surgery."

I rise to go, but Annie grips my hand, pleading with her eyes. I can tell she's petrified. Does she remember that they cut into her without knocking her out? Is she afraid they'll do it again?

"I'm right here," I say soothingly.

The nurse injects something into the curve of Annie's elbow and she passes out. Yet she's still holding onto me.


	16. Recap

**You may or may not have noticed that this is going to be kind of a long story. It goes up until the end of Annie's Victory Tour. And yes, there will be a sequel because I really enjoy the whole FinnickxAnnie thing. Thanks for reading and please review. (And happy holidays. Yeah.) And also, I published a short story about Haymitch and his girlfriend you might enjoy. No pressure . . .**

**Recap**

(ANNIE)

For once, Beest – my stylist – is at a loss.

He already has my dress, of course – he says that he started making it the moment the dam broke, knowing I'd win – but he has no idea what angle to play up.

The dress is white satin with one sleeve. It's pretty tight and short, with massive black pearls on the hem – the hem that barely goes past my privates.

It's rather sleazy, but complaining would mean talking.

My hair is curled and set loose across my shoulders. On my feet is a pair of high-heeled shoes that I can't walk in.

In the end, they decide to try and use the makeup to turn me into a deadly beast. I still look like an emaciated wreck.

Beest hands me what the doctors call a rebreather. It's special inhaler-like thing that's supposed to help me breathe. They had to replace my collapsed lung and this medicine is supposed to keep it working normally.

I take a few breaths of the gas before handing it to a member of my prep team and heading out for a night of hell.

First up, the prep team takes their sweet time soaking up the audience's applause. Beest gives a few modest bows as the audience gives him a standing ovation. But when Finnick goes on, the women of the place turn from audience of respectable Capitol citizens to mob of rabid females.

Hysterical teenagers profess their love for him while weeping. The crowd stomps, claps, and screams in elation.

Then I go on. At first, there's total silence. Then they start chanting my name.

I sit next to Caesar Flickerman and don't answer any of the warm-up questions he poses. I want to get this over with.

On an enormous screen, the recap of my Games starts. This will last three hours. The whole country will watch. No bathroom breaks. No talking. No nothing.

The soundtrack is composed of high-energy songs with suggestive lyrics. It makes me sick.

It's somewhat interesting to watch what happened in the bloodbath while I was passed out. I get to see what I missed.

As soon as I go down, Asper moves. He leaves his safe-haven atop the Cornucopia and runs down to me. He shakes me, trying to wake me up until Gad gets his hands on that ax. At first, Gad tries to use it to decapitate me, but Asper manages to draw him away.

Talon doesn't look human as he pulls out one of his shoelaces and tackles the girl from 12. Without hesitation, he begins garroting her. It's not an easy thing to witness.

Balinor very calmly shoots those two kids. He's an excellent shot. Each time, his arrow lands right between their eyes.

After the bloodbath, the cameras show a lot of Tachs. Since he's alone, he doesn't talk. Instead, he sings. Well, not exactly sings. He just sort of sings/hums some very intense music whenever he does certain things – like jump from building to building.

Then IT comes. _That_ day. With Asper. And Egma. And Talon.

I can't watch. I double over in my seat and cover my ears. Don't cry, not yet. Try and hold it in.

When it's safe to come out, I watch my time with Tachs.

I remember he said he had a girlfriend. How's she holding up, I wonder? She probably hates me. Not just me – the whole Capitol – the whole _world_. At least we have a common enemy.

Did Asper have a girlfriend? I wouldn't be surprised if he did.

On screen, Tachs is setting down the packs, asking if I have anything to eat. Then the noise comes. And the arrow goes through my hand.

Can't watch. Double over in my seat again.

Curl up on the chair with my hands over my ears. Start shaking and crying and it takes everything I have not to scream.

Caesar is asking me if I'm all right, trying to get me to come back to reality.

I only come out when the recap ends – and only because I'm forced.

President Snow walks across the stage, flanked by a little girl holding a crown on a pillow. It's silver and made to look like a laurel wreath.

Snow smiles as he lifts the crown and sets it on my head.

And I'm thinking how much I want him to die. This is his fault. This is all his fault.

I should've been killed in that arena, we both know it. But now he has to live with the consequences.

I won't let him sell me like he sells Finnick. I won't let him interview me and invite me to feasts. I won't let him forget me; shove me aside like every other victor.

And there is, in fact, a solution to these things.

This is not the Hunger Games anymore – this is the Snow Games. There is no way to win. There isn't even a way to play. You can't. End of story.

So the question is: How do you win a game you can't play? You change the rules.

As soon as the president steps back, my hand flies to my head. I rip off the crown and toss it aside. The crowd collectively gasps.

I know the thing's broken by the sound it makes when it hits the ground.

No one moves to stop me as I go for the elevator – not the Peacekeepers, not the president, not even Finnick.

I hop in the elevator and punch the button labeled "4."

Score one for Annie.


	17. Insanity

**A/N: Hello, my friends. I'm sorry if the next few chapters suck. I had the next twelve chapters of this story written, but there was a technology malfunction . . . Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Happy new year!**

**Insanity**

(FINNICK)

_Shock: the first emotion that registers_.

I wonder if the editing teams are functioning or if they're frozen like I am. I wonder if they managed to cut out Annie's stunt before it was broadcast across the nation.

Recognizable chunks of Annie's crown lay strewn across the stage, adrift in a sea of smaller splinters of silver.

The audience is in an uproar, unlike me, who's shocked still and silent.

Caesar Flickerman regains his bearings and leaps into action, attempting – and failing – to calm the audience. The crown-bearer hurries offstage to her caregivers.

And am I hallucinating? Or do I see a smile cracking on Snow's puffy lips?

_Fear: the second emotion that registers_.

When I was sixteen years old, I learned how Coriolanus Snow operates. He punishes you by punishing others. It's a strategy that makes even the strongest victor weak. I learned this the hard way, by watching my mother drown, my baby brothers in her arms.

Since then, I have never set a toe out of line. I have never done anything to make Snow suspicious of me. He probably knows I'm a rebel, though. He knows everything.

But how will he punish Annie? How will he punish a girl who has nothing to lose? He _won't_. He'll make an example of her.

He'll have her executed, most likely in public. It'll be televised, of course. All of the Gamemakers will be there, wearing their best clothes. And afterwards, there will be some grand celebration.

I manage to suck in the tiniest breath. I use the energy that breath gives me to dash offstage, weave between Peacekeepers, and enter the elevator. In the moments it takes to reach the fourth floor, I feel like I'm going to die. I feel like my insides have caught fire. Like each vein is a fuse, slowly carrying the flames to my heart, where they will consume me, kill me.

The moment the doors slide open, I'm shouting for her. "Annie!"

She's sitting on her bed, staring out the window at the streets below.

"Annie?" I cross the room and wrap her inside my arms.

She starts sobbing and shaking and I just hold on to her, powerless to do anything else. So, I set my chin on her head and stare out at the Capitol.

They can't take her away from me. I just got her back.

I know the Peacekeepers are there before I hear their footsteps. I turn to the side, facing them halfway. Annie pulls her face out of my chest to see.

"Relax, Odair," one of them says. "We're here for you, not her."

They escort me out of the room, out of the building, and into a hovercraft.

We reach the building at the very center of the Capitol, the Dome. In the penthouse is the office of Coriolanus Snow. It's a big room with a checkerboard-pattern marble floor. Animal heads line the walls, along with shelves of books and chests of liquor.

The president himself sits in an ebony leather armchair, a crystal glass of ice and amber liquor pressed against his forehead. He stares forward at the crackling fire, ignoring the stack of papers spread across the table beside him.

"I have a problem, Mr. Odair," he says. "And you and I" – he sets his cup down on the table – "share this problem."

I walk over to the fireplace and lean on the wall beside it. "And what problem might that be, Coriolanus?" I ask, sighing.

"Annie Cresta," he says calmly.

"I don't think _she's_ the problem, sir," I say. "I think the pro –"

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Odair," Snow says. He rises from his seat and strolls over to one of the chests. He takes a crystal decanter and pours some brandy into two cups after setting three ice cubes into each. He holds one out to me.

I take the cup from him, but I don't drink; I don't feel like dying just yet. "I'm listening."

"I'm feeling merciful." He returns to his seat and crosses his legs. "In exchange for Miss Cresta's life, a doctor will pronounce her mentally insane. To which _you_" – he lifts his forefinger from his glass and points it at me – "will attest. And you will do so on national television."

I'm struggling to process what he's saying. "You want us to plead insanity? Like they do in murder trials?"

"It's completely up to you," says Snow with a shrug. "I could kill her, if you prefer. I'm fine either way."

"I'll do it," I say.

"I'll start on the broadcast," Snow says. "Her interview has already been cancelled. We'll just have the announcement instead. And afterwards, she will disappear from the public eye. No camera crews, no interviews, nothing."

I turn to go.

When I'm halfway out the door, he stops me. "Finnick."

"Yes, sir?" I ask.

Snow glares up at me. "If either of you set a toe out of line again, I'll kill her myself. Do we understand each other?"

I swallow, nodding.

I'm sent into a special room and given a script from which to read. Each word that slips past my lips is a lie. But I get through it.

Even the camera crews that film me look a little shocked. They didn't think I'd sell out Annie this quickly. Neither did I.

When I get back to the Training Center, Annie's door is locked. I knock three times. "Annie? Annie, open the door." I don't get anything in response.

So, I lean against the wall. And slide to the floor. And fall asleep outside of her room.


	18. Going Back

**A/N: Hello! When they get back to 4, there will be a lot of new characters. If PM me with a character's name, appearance, and personality, I'll see if I can put them in. Review, please. Thanks!**

**Going Back**

(ANNIE)

At dawn, Finnick comes to tell me that "We're going home. Now."

There's this urgency in his voice. It's the kind of urgency I heard in that tribute's voice when he screamed for us to run. And it scares me.

It's because of that urgency that I don't argue. I just follow him into the elevator, down to the lobby, through the empty streets, and into the train.

Finnick doesn't say a single word the whole time. He won't even look me in the eye. Is he mad about what I did last night?

We eat breakfast in silence – hell, we barely eat at all. We just push our food around our plates and glance over at one another when the other isn't looking.

Eventually, I get bored and decide to go into the lounging cart. Turning on the television, I take a few puffs of the rebreather before I curl up on the couch, arms around my knees.

President Snow dominates the screen.

I try to relax by telling myself he can't bother me anymore.

He's making some sort of announcement. I don't pay much attention – until he says my name. I reach for the remote and press the "Up" button on the volume. It's so loud that Finnick hears and comes in to investigate.

"What are you watching?" he asks.

I point to the television just as his face pops up on screen.

Before Finnick can kill the power, screen-him starts talking. "Annie Cresta was declared mentally insane last night by her doctors."

What?

"I support their diagnosis," screen-Finnick says. He goes on to use my long-standing silence as an example, along with what I did after the recap.

What?

The whole time, screen-Finnick speaks in a calm, measured voice. Like there's nothing wrong. Like he's just giving the weather forecast.

Real Finnick cuts the power. His brows are pulled together with a little crease between them. He tries to speak, but he keeps cutting himself off midsentence. "Annie, I –. I mean, I don't –. You weren't –." He sucks in a deep breath. "I didn't have –. There wasn't any –."

Not happening.

Not real.

Bite my lip. Bite my lip so hard that I taste blood. Press my hands over my ears. Shut my eyes. Curl up in a ball.

Not happening.

Not real.

Not crazy.

Finnick creeps closer to me. "Annie?" He reaches out – maybe to strangle me, maybe to comfort me – and I swat his hand away. "Could you let me explain? Please?"

I stand up and push past him, headed for my room. I don't know that he's following me until I slam the door in his pretty little face.

Fall down on the floor. Sick and tired of it. Should've died in the arena and let Shine or Balinor come home and be called crazy by someone they trusted – had a crush on, even.

How could he call me crazy? How?

Don't like him anymore. Don't want to talk to him. Hate him. Kick the door – which he's still standing behind – to try and get him to go away.

I can still taste blood in my mouth.

He must get the hint because I can hear him walking down the hall. Then I hear his door slam.

I don't cry. I've been crying so often lately, I don't have any tears left. I probably shouldn't be crying anyway. It makes me seem weak.

But when I think about it, do I really have a right to be mad at him? Maybe he didn't have a choice. Maybe Snow forced him to do it. Maybe I don't hate Finnick.

It makes me wonder what would Snow have done to me if Finnick hadn't stepped in. And . . . and maybe I _am_ crazy. It makes sense, doesn't it? It explains everything, if you think about it – the silence, the screaming in my head . . .

The taste of blood is absolutely flooding my mouth. I can't take it. So I go into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Earlier, I bit my lip. Apparently, I bit through it. Not only does blood fill my mouth, it flows down my chin.

Great. Just great.

I wash out my mouth in the sink, trying to keep the memories out of my head. The littlest drop of blood brings them all flooding back – the head, the arrows, the pain.

In an attempt to distract myself, I run my tongue over the cut on my lip. It hurts, but not as badly as the other stuff I've been through.

Eventually, I come up with a simple test to decide whether or not I'm crazy. If I can say something – _anything_ – then I'm not crazy. But if I'm not, then I'll be mad at Finnick for calling me crazy and vice versa.

I sit back on the floor, opening and closing my mouth like an idiot as I choke on the words trying to crawl up my throat. The words that I'm trying to say are:_ I'm not crazy_.

No matter how hard I try, I can't say them.

So what are the answers to my two questions? No, I'm not mad at Finnick. And yes, I'm crazy.


	19. Homecoming

**Some people have been asking me if Annie is really crazy or not. Personally, I think she's mess up but not crazy. But it's up to you to decide for yourselves whether or not she's mental. (I know, "She didn't give a clear answer! What a bitch!") Anyway, please enjoy.**

**Homecoming**

(FINNICK)

The train station is all but vacant as we pull in.

There is only one person present: a boy that I don't recognize. He looks exactly like Annie – same olive skin, identical green eyes, and dark hair. He must be her brother. But there is one major difference between them: an intricate web of scars is spread across his back and shoulders, visible from under his shirt.

I recognize the pattern; he's been whipped. Our head Peacekeeper is strict, so whipping is a common occurrence. I wonder what he did to earn it.

Annie ignores me as she steps off the train and into her brother's arms. I remember she once told me that they were twins.

I make my way over to Annie and her brother. I hold out my hand. "I'm Finnick. It's nice to meet you."

Annie's brother looks at my hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. "Britton Cresta."

"Do you guys need a ride to Victor's Isle?" I ask.

Britton sighs. "Sure."

District 4 is composed of five islands: Mainland, Victor's Isle, Sandstorm, Slums, and South Waters. Sandstorm is where children are trained for the Games and Victor's Isle is where the victors live. Peacekeepers don't set foot on either. The other three islands serve no special purpose.

I lead the twins along the edge of Mainland and down to the docks, then to my boat.

Most of the privately owned boats in 4 are sailboats. But victors get motorboats – which we call cruisers – automatically when they're crowned.

As we drive to Victor's Isle, I strike up a conversation with Britton. Annie sits in the back of the boat, watching the water and sometimes glancing at me.

"So, where are your parents?" I ask.

"Dead," Britton says flatly.

_Smooth, Odair. First you call his sister crazy, then this._

"I'm sorry," I say. "Mind if I ask how it happened?"

"Mom died having us, Dad drowned when we were eight," says Britton. "Depressing, right?"

Very. But I keep that to myself.

"So, who looks after you?" I ask.

Britton pauses for a moment to think. "We lived with our aunt for a while." His tone makes it implicitely clear that that's no longer the case.

"How's it going, Annie?" I ask.

Annie quits biting her nails and looks at me; I notice there's a big cut down the right side of her lower lip. She pulls her shoulders up and drops them in a shrug.

When I turn back to the wheel, I see Britton staring at me. He's smirking at me with his right eyebrow pulled up.

I pull up along the docks. Britton helps me tie up the cruiser before I show him and Annie to their new house.

There are twelve houses on Victor's Isle, arranged in a semicircle. They're all three stories high – not including the basements. Each has a wraparound porch, telephone, and flatscreen television. No one really has a phone, save for victors and officials. I use mine to keep in contact with Johanna.

The Crestas have been assigned House H. I lead them over and grab Annie just before she followers her brother inside.

"Look," I say. "I didn't mean to –"

Annie sets her fingertips over my lips to shut me up. She nods once and gives a heartless smile, as if to lie and say, _It's okay._

"You're not mad at me?" I ask skeptically.

She smiles again and shakes her head. _No_.

"If you need anything, I'm in House E." I take one of her hands in both of mine and give it a light kiss.

I decide to head to Mags's house. Before she even says hello, Mags pours me a cup of tea.

"Nothing calms you down like tea. And you look like you could use some," she says before embracing me. "Sit. Talk to me."

I tell her everything that happened – the first kiss, what Alecta said, the dead man Ezra, everything. I don't keep anything from Mags; the woman is like my mother.

"Ezra?" she asks thoughtfully.

"Did you know him?" I ask.

Mags nods. "He was a bookie. He took bets from people."

I lean forward. "Bets on what?"

Mags's answer is simple: "Victors." She takes a sip of tea from her mug. "Who would win and lose. It was legal for a while, but around the time you went into the arena, they shut him down."

"Why?"

"They say he had connections among the Gamemakers. If a tribute got enough bets, they had tended to win the Games. And not because they were the best fighters."

"They thought he fixed the Games?" I ask skeptically.

"It's a crazy accusation." Mags leans back in her chair. "But Snow _killed_ him. That has to mean something, doesn't it?"


	20. Dinner Party

**Dinner Party**

(ANNIE)

I take one more puff of the rebreather in a failing attempt to relax.

Mags has invited me to dinner at her house. Guess who else will be there? Not just Finnick, but _all_ of the District 4 victors have been invited. And the only one I've ever met is Finnick.

I pull on a big black sweater, a pair of jeans, tie a black ribbon around my neck, and slip the rebreather into my pocket.

Britton is sitting in his new room, digging through a cardboard box. "Are you sure you're okay if I don't come to dinner?"

I nod.

"Maybe you could hang out with Cal tomorrow," he says, returning to his unpacking. "I know she's dying to see you."

I consider Calliope Aaron – Cal for short – to be my best friend. I met Calliope and her older sister Io so long ago, I can't remember. Cal and I didn't get along at first, but learned to tolerate each other as our siblings began a long, nauseating romance that continues to this day.

To be honest, I almost forgot about her. I was a little bit preoccupied.

I shrug at Britton.

"Do me a favor?" he asks. "Try and avoid Finnick."

I raise my eyebrows. Is he serious?

"Look, he's just a lot older, and he's got a _bit_ of a reputation, and after the whole insanity thing . . . I just don't want you to do something you'll regret." He looks at me for a second. "You know what, forget I brought it up. Have fun." I start walking downstairs. "Don't drink! If you get drunk, I'm not cleaning up after you!"

The front door slams shut behind me.

I've been back for seven hours and I'm already sick of my brother. I know, it's bad. I never thought I'd see him again and all I can think of is hitting him in the face. He just doesn't get it. I've heard the Games change people, but . . .

Next thing I know, my fist collides with Mags's front door. She appears behind it. "Annie, it's so nice to meet you!" she says before throwing her arms around me. "I've heard so much about you!"

Her enthusiasm is a bit overwhelming.

"Don't suffocate the poor girl," somebody else says.

A few feet behind Mags is a man a few inches taller than Finnick. Huge, defined muscles ripple under his pale skin, which is decorated with tattoos. He's the biggest guy I've ever seen. A long red scar runs down the right side of his face. A smile twists the sides of his mouth.

He walks a few steps forward and offers me his hand. "I'm Broadsea, victor of the Sixty-fourth Games." I shake his hand. "You're Annie, I take it."

I nod.

I'm fairly certain that _Mags_ was Finnick's mentor. She must've volunteered to stay on for a year after Broadsea won.

Mags wraps one arm around my shoulders and begins to lead me to the back porch, where the three other victors are seated.

When he sees me, Finnick's face lights up. He pats an empty seat beside him and I head over at once, glad for the familiar face.

"I see you met Broadsea," Finnick says quietly. "If I were you, I'd steer clear. He's a jackass."

He didn't seem that bad to me . . .

I become conscious of the woman looking at me with her sunken-in green eyes. Her yellowish skin is stretched over her bones like it doesn't fit. Her hands shake slightly. I can safely assume she's a drug addict.

"I'm Lowtide," she says, pushing her blackish-brown hair out of her eyes.

"Lowtide won the Fifty-sixth Games," Finnick tells me. He stretches his arm across the back of my chair and gestures to the last victor with his beer bottle. "That's Wrather. And I think he's dead."

"No, he's immortal." Broadsea sighs.

"We used to bet on when he'd kick the bucket," Finnick says fondly.

"Never. I'm never going to die," Wrather mutters.

I realize that the six of us are all that's left. All the other victors from 4 killed themselves, or overdosed on drugs, or got drunk and hit their heads or something. I'm not totally sure that I _want_ to join this merry little band. But it's not like I've got a choice.

We eat dinner on the porch. Finnick does most of the talking, telling me stories about everything and nothing all at once. Mags keeps looking at us and getting all smiley. Lowtide and Wrather each seem off in their own little worlds. Broadsea looks bored out of his mind.

After we finish, Lowtide volunteers to take the plates into the kitchen and invites me to come with her. Halfway through the hall, we accidentally collide. The dirty plates go flying everywhere. I'm lucky; I away from the mess. But Lowtide goes tumbling forward, scraping her hands on the broken plates.

Little beads of blood sprout on her palms. I swallow and reach for my rebreather.

As I press it to my mouth, Lowtide looks up and her dead eyes widen.

"Where did you get that?" She pulls something out of her pocket – another cylinder, identical to mine. Another rebreather. She takes a few puffs from it and grins. "Takes the edge off, don't it?"

I don't understand.

Finnick comes to investigate just as Lowtide returns the rebreather to her pocket. He snorts. "Did you trip the poor girl?" he asks, helping me to my feet. He offers Lowtide his hand and helps her up.

Why is everyone calling me a poor girl today?

"I didn't trip her, I just crashed into her," Lowtide says matter-of-factly. "No big deal. Right, Annie?" She winks at me.

When all the plate-chunks are cleaned up, Finnick walks me back to my new house. He stops us in the middle of the cobblestone pathway that connects the ring of houses.

"I really am sorry," he says. I turn my head to look at the beach because I can't look at _him_. "If I hadn't made that announcement, he would've killed you. I don't think I could handle it if you died." He sets his hand under my chin and tilts my head like he did before my interviews. "And if you don't stop me right now, I'm going to kiss you."

I don't stop him.

It's an awkward kiss, to say the least. Finnick seems almost scared to touch me. But it's sweet. His hand rests lightly on my cheek as he coils his free arm around my waist. I wrap my fists around the collar of his open coat.

That's when the front door to my house opens.

I break the kiss, turning my head to see. Britton stands casually in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. He coughsand it sounds suspiciously like the word _pedophile_. "Maybe you should come inside," he says to me.

Finnick and I separate and I march into the house, heart pounding in my chest.


	21. Mother Dearest

**I'm sorry that I accidentally posted the last chapter twice. Technology is a bitch. I think I fixed it, though. And I'm sorry that some of you guys didn't like it. In my own defense, I'm getting writer's block. Hopefully this one won't disappoint.**

**Mother Dearest**

(FINNICK)

It's been two weeks since Annie was crowned. We haven't been alone together after our most recent kiss.

Upon Mags's request, I go to the apothecary on Mainland in search of an antidote to the poison I saw Snow use. "_Better safe than sorry_," Mags said. "_Especially after what happened at the recap_." I didn't think it was a bad idea.

Lysander is about my age. He runs the apothecary with his mother, Timoxena. Lysander always looks like he's been in a recent explosion – huge dust-covered goggles over his eyes, dark blond hair extending in every direction, and a dirt-smudged face.

Right now, he's riffling through a cabinet of suspicious-looking elixirs. "So what were the symptoms again?" he calls.

"Besides dying, there's coughing up blood," I reply.

He returns with a paper pouch in one hand and a vial in the other. "Did you want the poison or the antidote?"

"Antidote," I say.

Lysander curses under his breath. For a moment, he examines the two in his hands. "Eh . . ." He hesitates before handing me the liquid. "That's it. Maybe. No. Yes. Yes. That's it. Yes. Definitely it." He nods to himself.

"Do you want some time to reconsider?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No. Nope. I'm sure. I think." He sticks his pinky into the powder-pouch, licks it, then spits on the ground. "Yep, I was right. The antidote is tasteless, but the poison tastes like strawberries. That's how you tell the difference."

"I'll remember that for later," I mutter. I hand him a few coins and slip the vile into my pocket before leaving. I try to head out of the marketplace to the docks, which involves going through the residential area.

In said residential area, I see a woman struggling to unlock her front door while holding onto a mass of brown paper bags.

"Need help?" I call.

When the woman sees me, she shrieks and drops the bags. She immediately slaps her hand over her mouth. "Finnick," she gasps, extending a hand to me. "I – I'm Jocasta," she stammers. "Asper Brewre's mother."

Asper Brewre, as in my _tribute_ Asper Brewre. This is the mother of the twelve-year-old boy that was decapitated in the arena.

I shake her hand. "Oh, of course. I'm Finnick Odair."

I can see the resemblance in the almost-unnatural silver hair and the shape of the eyes, but that's where it stops.

"Would you like to come in?" Jocasta asks.

After agreeing, I help her pick up the fallen groceries and we head inside. It's a one-floor house, cluttered with dirty plates and papers. There's a shrill whistling coming from the other room. Jocasta curses and rushes into the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder for me to put the bags anywhere.

I set them down on the couch. In doing so, I accidentally look through a half-open door.

Jocasta comes back in with two cups of tea. She puts them down on the already-packed coffee table. "That room was Asper's," she says quietly. "You can go in, if you like." She opens the door for me.

Sunlight pours in through a huge bay window on the far wall. A small bed, a desk, and chair are the only furniture. The walls are covered with drawings. An open sketchbook and colored pencils are laid out on the bed, waiting for the owner that will never return.

These drawings aren't the mindless doodles of children. They're realistic enough to be photographs. Some are of people, others of places and things.

"Do you draw, too?" I ask.

"I try," Jocasta says with an airy laugh. She sighs. "I know I should clean out this room out, but I can't bring myself to do it."

I should probably say something. "I had no idea he was so talented."

"That was my Asper," Jocasta says quietly. "He wasn't a very good student. He was drawing when he should've been studying."

If Asper had won, he'd probably drop out of school. Almost every victor does. I didn't, though – not right away, at least.

"Asper was a good kid," I say. A good kid that I allowed to die a horrible, gruesome, painful death.

"How's Annie?" Jocasta asks. "I saw your announcement on TV."

I shrug and pick up the sketchbook to examine a half-finished picture of a sleeping cat.

After a moment, she says, "I'd like to meet her sometime – if that's all right."

I'm not going to deny her that. "Sure. I've got to head back anyway. Want to come?"

"Is that okay?" she asks.

"If it wasn't fine, I wouldn't have invited you."

We head to Victor's Isle, then to Annie's house. Britton answers the door.

"Finnick," he says. "Hey. And a strange lady. Hello to you, too."

"This is Jocasta Brewre," I say. "She's Asper's mom."

Britton's eyes widen. "Oh. Hi." He shakes Jocasta's hand. "Come on in."

We enter the house.

"Jocasta wanted to meet Annie," I explain.

"Uh, you guys get comfortable. I'll go get her." We remain standing as he disappears upstairs.

Jocasta takes a deep breath. I can tell she's thinking about what it'd be like if her son had won, if she were living in this house instead of the Crestas.

"Nervous?" I ask.

"I don't know," she says. "I don't think there's an emotion for this."

Britton and Annie come downstairs. When she sees me, Annie breaks into a smile – which makes _me_ smile in turn.

"Annie," I say. "This is Asper's mom."

Annie takes one look at Jocasta and faints.


	22. Safe

**Kay, so, I've written a ton of chapters, so I'm posting them a lot more often now. I have decided that the sequel will pick up from where I leave off, which is at the end of the Tour. If you've submitted a character, just be patient, they'll show up in a few chapters. Thank you!**

**Safe**

(FINNICK)

Britton trudges downstairs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He slumps down on the couch and leans his head back.

"Is Annie okay?" I ask.

"She's still passed out," says Britton. "All I did was carry her up to bed." He looks around for a moment. "Where's Jocasta?"

"I asked Mags to take her home." I sit on the chair across from him. "I'm sorry, Britton."

He sighs. "You didn't know she'd pass out."

"I know I've been doing a lot of stupid things," I say. "Starting with the announcement."

"I'm not mad about the announcement," he says simply. "You were right."

My mouth drops open.

"Sometimes, she's fine," Britton says. "She doesn't speak, but Annie's never been much for words anyway. But she's . . ." he sighs. "I haven't slept since the reaping. At first, I was just scared, and then she came back. Now in the middle of the night, she just starts screaming at the top of her lungs. She freaks out."

"That's normal for victors," I say quickly. "_I_ used to get nightmares." I still do sometimes.

Britton cracks a smile. "Look at us. All this grownup male bonding. You're like the older brother I neither had nor wanted."

I crack up. Britton may be ridiculous, but he's pretty funny.

There's a knock on the door. Britton gets it. He stumbles backwards as a blond girl throws her arms around him and begins to speak quickly.

From knowing Johanna so long, I can usually understand fast-talking women. But this is on a _whole_ other level. She says something that includes the words "phone call," "Annie," and "Oh my gosh." The word "okay" reoccurs often as well.

"Oh my gosh, are you Finnick?" the girl asks. She rapidly shakes my hand. "Of course you're Finnick. What am I saying?"

Britton claps his hands twice. "Io. Focus. Where's Calliope?"

Io turns back to him. "She's still at home. I didn't tell her." She slows down to ask, "Do you want to stay at my place tonight? I've got an empty couch and you could use a good night's sleep, Brit. What do you say?"

"I _want_ to," he says sadly. "But I can't leave Annie."

"I can look after her for tonight," I say.

Britton breaks out in a fit of hysterical laughter. I'm pretty sure it's fake laughter because in less than five seconds, he pulls himself back together to give a simple "No."

Io sighs. "Britton, it's not like they're going to get it on as soon as you walk out the door." She turns to me. "Is it?" I shake my head. "You see?" Io says enthusiastically. "Besides, _we've_ got an age difference. Finnick being older's not a big deal."

I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest. "Oh?"

"She's thirteen months older," Britton says defensively. "You're four _years_ older. And let's just go ahead and say it, you're rather promiscuous."

"I have no interest in sleeping with your sister - or your girlfriend, if that's what you're worried about." I wink playfully at Io.

It takes some convincing, but eventually, Britton agrees to go with Io on the conditions that I: "Don't drink or smoke in this house. Don't osculate with anyone in this house. Don't do anything stupid. And above all, it is _imperative_ that you _keep it in your pants_."

I agree and the pair heads out.

In the kitchen, I find some rope and pass the time by tying knots. Eventually, I start tying it into a bracelet. I don't know what I'll do with it; it's not the type of thing that a guy wears around. Maybe I'll save it and give it to Johanna or something.

I'm so relaxed that when Annie starts screaming, I literally jump. After I regain my bearings, I pocket the bracelet and rush upstairs.

Annie is thrashing around in her bed. Half the blankets and all of the pillows have been kicked off. Her hands cover her ears as she shrieks. And she's not just screaming, she's screaming Asper's name. In a way, she's _speaking_. I wonder if she knows she can speak and chooses not to, or if it's subconcious.

I sit beside her on the bed and shake her. "Annie, wake up." Nothing. "Annie. Wake up!" Her eyes open. At first, she shrinks away from me . . . like she's scared of me. I stand up and move away from her a bit. "It's okay," I tell her. "It's over. You're safe now. Nobody's going to hurt you. It was just a bad dream."

She relaxes slightly, but doesn't say anything.

I pick up her sheets and pillows of the ground as she puffs away on that rebreather. Her breathing seems fine to me. Is her new lung really bothering her that much?

I turn on the faucet in the bathroom, running the cold water over a washcloth. I force Annie to lie down, but I don't make her go to sleep. I tuck her in, set the washcloth over her forehead, and end up crawling into bed beside her.

"I get nightmares, too, you know," I say. I take the bracelet out of my pocket and slip it onto her wrist. "The key's to keep telling yourself that it's over. Look for this bracelet when you get a nightmare; it can be a safety bracelet. If you're wearing it, then that means you're okay. If you were still in the arena, you wouldn't have it. Right?"

Annie nods and gives me a smile. She begins to run the bracelet through her fingers.

I don't know if that advice will help her. She's still jumpy; she's constantly looking over her shoulder like someone's going to creep up behind her. And she keeps her shoulders pulled up around her ears as if she's trying to protect her neck.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. She shrugs. "I can cook pretty well. Do you want me to make you something to eat?" She nods and I lead her down the stairs by the hand, turning on lights as we go.

We reach the kitchen. Annie sits down as I begin to pick apart the contents of the fridge. I come up with the ingredients to make a decent omelet. As I make it, I try to explain the delicate art of cooking. Annie's a good listener. She doesn't talk, but still. It's nice to have someone at least _pretend_ they're listening to me.

We share a big omelet with peppers, cheese, and onions.

"Do you like it?" I ask. Annie nods. "Are you feeling better?" She nods again. We exchange a wide smile.

When we're finished, I take her back upstairs. I tell myself that I'll just stay with her until she falls asleep and then go back downstairs.

I don't know if or when she falls asleep, because I'm passed out in a matter of seconds.


	23. Overdose

**I'm sorry if this chapter sucks . . . the writer's block is getting really bad. But I will finish this story! I swear to you, I will. *epic***

**Overdose**

(ANNIE)

It's been a week since I last saw Finnick. After I met – or rather, _saw_ – Jocasta, Finnick stayed the night. In my bed. Nothing _happened_, but he slipped out before I woke up the next morning like we'd had a one-night stand.

At breakfast the next morning, Britton tried to give me the sex-talk. It was . . . I don't know what it was. No words can describe how embarrassing, uncomfortable, and flat-out traumatizing the ordeal was.

I've been thinking about Finnick a lot lately. And I've been wondering – why does he care? I didn't mind that Tachs took care of me because I thought I'd end up dying; I don't mind that Britton takes care of me because he's my brother. But why does _Finnick_ do it? What does he get in return?

Finnick's the only person I can spend more than ten minutes with without wanting to hit them. He knows what I've been through because he's been though it himself. And he's good at distracting me. And he's sweet. And he makes me feel like I'm worth something. Like I'm not just a mad girl.

I just don't know.

Today, Britton has taken the liberty of inviting our friends over. There's his girlfriend Io, her smiley blond sister Calliope, and my mute cousin Lunetta.

Lunetta and I have never been particularly close, but since neither of us talk now, I feel a little more comfortable being silent.

We're all on the beach in our swimsuits. They're playing around in the shallows. I sit a safe distance away from the water; I haven't swum since that flood. But I wrap my fist around the safety-bracelet Finnick gave me and manage to stick my toes in.

Calliope comes out of the water to sit beside me on the beach. "How's it going?"

I shrug.

"It's good to see you again," she says, squeezing my hand.

I give her the best smile I can muster up.

She notices the safety-bracelet around my wrist. "This is pretty." She turns it around. "Did you make this?"

I shake my head.

Calliope smiles and playfully elbows me in the ribs. "Did Finnick give it to you?" I nod. "He's such a nice guy. I've never met him personally, but Io says he's sweet."

I nod again.

There's a loud crashing noise from the nearest house – Lowtide's house.

"What was that?" asks Calliope.

In the water, the others are equally as confused. Lunetta has a funny look in her eye and she cocks her head to the side.

I get up and go over to Lowtide's. I knock on the door a few times. No one comes to answer through the door. I open it up myself and go inside.

Lowtide appears to be having a seizure on the floor of her kitchen. She's gasping for breath. A shattered glass bottle is beside her. And her rebreather is in her right hand.

I think she's overdosing.

I might not be able to talk, by I can scream. So I scream at the top of my lungs and hope somebody will hear.

Press my fingers against her throat to feel her pulse. Nothing. Tilt back her chin. Pinch her nose. Blow a lungful of air into her. Put my hands over her heart and start pumping.

One. Two. Three. Four. Please. Please. Don't. Die.

Nothing happens. Nothing at all.

I scream again. Why is no one coming?

It takes a few moments for them to start showing up. Lunetta is the first one inside, followed quickly by Finnick.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "I heard you screaming–" then he sees Lowtide. Without hesitation, he picks her up like a ragdoll and carries her out towards the docks. "Start the boat!" he shouts.

Britton climbs into the nearest cruiser, followed by Finnick. I try to get on, too, but the boat has already left the docks.

I don't realize that Lunetta has followed me until she touches my arm, gestures to the boat, and shakes her head. What is that supposed to mean?

Hours pass. The others go home. I still have the rebreathers – both Lowtide's and my own. "_Takes the edge off, don't it_?"

Was the rebreather ever to help me, or was it to make me retreat farther into my own head? It doesn't matter. I can't go more than a few hours without it. And neither can Lowtide. And I don't want to want it.

So I toss both rebreathers into the ocean and let the tides carry them away.

Then I sit on the beach. The sun goes down. The moon goes up. The waters are so calm that they perfectly reflect the stars.

I can't sit still. And I can't imagine going back to my house. So – still in my swimsuit – I go to Finnick's house and wait. I've never had alcohol before, but that doesn't stop me from pouring myself a drink from Finnick's extensive supply.

My hands are shaking. I don't know if it's from nerves or being without the rebreather.

The drink burns my throat and stings my nostrils, but I finish it anyway.

I look up to find Finnick in the doorway. He stares at the empty cup I hold, tears brimming in his eyes. "Lowtide is dead."

Without a second thought, I put down the cup and wrap my arms around Finnick just as he starts to cry.

I don't mind that Finnick has been taking care of me. Now, I get the chance to return the favor_. I_ get to take care of _him_.


	24. Denial

**Some people have asked me when they're going to do the whole 'I love you'/confession/fluffy scene. It'll be in the last chapter. And I promise it'll be awesome.**

**Denial**

(FINNICK)

I wake up in the morning with Annie sleeping next to me. This is the second time I've woken up next to her. But this time, I can't crawl out the window before she wakes up. I shouldn't have to. We didn't _do_ anything last night. She just listened to me talk about Lowtide until my voice gave out.

The whole time, Annie held my hand. And when – despite my best efforts to hold it in – I started to blubber like a two-year-old, Annie just stroked my hair and rubbed my back. She didn't care that I was acting like a weakling. She just sat with me.

I should get up. I should get dressed. But I don't want to. I want to stay right here next to Annie. She looks so peaceful while she's sleeping. I can't stop myself from gently brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes.

After kissing her forehead, I rise. I pull on a black suit, white button-down shirt, and black tie that I will never wear again. I'm completely dressed except for the tie, which simply refuses to cooperate.

Today is Lowtide's funeral.

Annie groans and rolls over in bed. She reaches across the empty sheets, maybe searching for me. When she doesn't find anything, she sits up and looks around the room.

"Hey," I say.

She turns her head in my direction. When she sees me, she smiles, gets up, and walks over to me. She moves my hands away and begins to take my place with the necktie.

"I can flawlessly create any knot on any rope," I say. "But for some strange reason, I've never mastered ties."

She smiles quickly. Before I can do or say anything, she's gone.

My first stop is Mags's place. She answers the door red-eyed and in a gray dress. Mags was Lowtide's mentor, just like she was mine, Broadsea's, and several other victors'. Each time one of her victors dies, Mags is heartbroken. She practically treats us like we're her kids.

We don't say anything. We just hug.

The funeral is being held on Slums, where Lowtide grew up. Her only blood-relative remaining is her cousin, Riptide. He spent last night building Lowtide's funeral boat.

Funerals in District 4 are always the same: the body is placed in a funeral boat, made by the deceased's next-of-kin. Friends will launch the boat. Other friends and family are given flaming tridents, which they toss at the boat. Then the boat catches fire as it drifts out to sea.

There's a huge turnout for the funeral. Lowtide never had many friends, but she did have plenty of supporters.

Mags and Wrather wade into the shallows to launch the boat, ruining their funeral clothes in the process. Broadsea and I toss the tridents.

As we watch the boat burn, Annie sets her hand on my shoulder. I know she's just trying to comfort me, but for some reason, I don't want to be with her now.

Angrily, I shake her off and push through the crowd. I reach the docks and deposit my coat, tie, shoes, socks, and shirt in Mags's cruiser before diving into the water and swimming back to Victor's Isle.

The water always clears my head.

I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about Annie. She's nice, but . . .

Halfway there, it starts to rain. I allow the waves to carry me partway. I reach Victor's just as the first bolt of lightning hits somewhere in the distance.

When I get there, I go straight home. I shed what's left of my clothes and wrap a towel around my waist. As I walk into the kitchen, I realize that Mags is sitting in my living room. The clothes I left in her cruiser are folded up on the table.

"Annie thinks she did something wrong," Mags says. "She thinks she upset you."

"I don't want to talk about Annie," I say. I pour myself a glass of bourbon. "I'm sick of her."

"You're sick of her?" Mags asks skeptically.

"Yes," I reply. "I'm sick and tired. She's always there. She _always_ needs something from me. She's _always_ in my head. She's _always there_!"

"Really? Because if I remember correctly, _you_ volunteered to stay at _her_ house when she relapsed last week."

I pick up my clothes, head into the laundry room, and toss them into the machine.

"You know what I think?" calls Mags. "I think you're in denial."

I slam the machine door shut. "Denial over what? Lowtide?"

"No." Mags comes in and leans against the doorframe, blocking my exit from the laundry room. "I think you're in love."

I snort. "What?"

"I think you're in love and you don't want to admit it."

"That's ridiculous," I say simply. I slip past her and head for my bedroom, but she follows me. "Love is stupid and painful and overrated. "

"You've never _been_ in love before."

"With good reason!" I say.

She stops me halfway up the stairs. "Answer me this: if you aren't in love, why is she always in your head?" She allows that to sink in.

_Why is Annie in my head_? I repeat that question over and over in my mind. And no matter how hard I try, I can't come up with a solid answer.

"You're in love and the sooner you come to terms with it, the happier you will be," Mags says.

"She's fifteen," I say dismissively. "I'm nineteen. And a prick. And she's got her own stuff going on."

"But you're not denying it," Mags says in a sing-song voice.

She's got me there.


	25. Fight

**This chapter is slightly terrible. Sorry . . .**

**Fight**

(ANNIE)

My head is pounding. It's as bad as it was when Gad gave me a concussion. But nobody's hit me.

It's been exactly one day since I last had the rebreather. I have refill canisters, but they're useless without to actual rebreather. And not only is withdrawal a living hell, but it's nearly impossible to breathe. Maybe I wasn't thinking right when I threw those breathers into the ocean. Maybe I _need_ mine.

It's after dark. I'm walking barefoot down the beach, half-hoping that maybe one of the rebreathers has washed up on shore. Eventually, I give up and flop down on the sand, dampened and cold from the rain. It's just drizzling now, but it was pouring earlier this morning.

I catch sight of Broadsea stumbling around on the dunes. There's a big bottle of vodka in one of his hands. He slips a few times and the liquor sloshes out onto the sand. "Oops!" he says. He starts laughing and trips his way over to me. "Annie! How are you?" he falls down next to me.

I shrug and look into his bloodshot eyes as he starts laughing. He's drunk out of his mind; I can smell the alcohol on his breath. He offers the bottle to me and at this point, I can't refuse. It smells and tastes like the nail polish they put on me in the Capitol.

"I was just thinking about Lowtide," Broadsea says. "She _hated_ me. Everybody hates me." He laughs. "Do _you_ hate me?"

I shake my head. I _don't_ hate him; I don't know him well enough to make an informed decision. But everybody else says he's a jackass.

He smiles. "Just give it some time. You will." He sounds so sad . . .

I shake my head again in an attempt to tell him_, I don't believe that_.

Without warning, Broadsea places his hands on either side of my face and kisses me. I don't know what's happening, but I don't like it. I try to push him away. I do it gently at first, but he doesn't budge. So I hit him in the face.

Broadsea pulls away, chuckling. "Ouch," he laughs.

"Annie?"

I to turn see Finnick making his way across the dunes. I'm not sure if he's still mad at me, but I don't really care right now. He walks over to us very calmly.

Broadsea groans. "Haven't you ever heard that three's a crowd?" He casually wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"Shut up," Finnick says nonchalantly. He turns to me. "I'm hungry. You want me to make another one of those omelets?"

No. What I want is Broadsea to get the hell away from me.

I nod and Finnick bends down to help me get to my feet. Just as he does, Broadsea punches him along the jaw. Finnick shouts, but doesn't seem too effected. He promptly grabs Broadsea, tackles him, and then starts hitting him in the face over and over.

Broadsea seizes Finnick by the throat and hair and throws him onto his back. He gets to his feet and starts to kick Finnick repeatedly. Finnick's only down for a moment before he kicks Broadsea in the leg, making him fall, too.

It becomes clear that although Broadsea is bigger and stronger, Finnick is the better fighter. And somehow, this makes the two victors evenly matched in hand-to-hand combat.

"Somebody's feisty today," Broadsea says, chuckling. In a flash, he is on top of Finnick again, hand around his neck. He slams Finnick's head against the sand twice. Then his hands tighten around Finnick's throat and laughs. "Weakling!"

"Dick!" Finnick shouts back. He manages to jab Broadsea in the ribs. They start to roll over and over in the sand, exchanging punches every now and then.

I should do something. I should get help or keep them from killing each other. But my limbs aren't responding.

The two boys wrestle for a while before Finnick gets the upper hand. He pulls himself onto his feet and Broadsea manages to get to his knees. Finnick bends his leg and snaps it forward, hitting Broadsea in the nose with his knee.

Broadsea falls back to the sand unconscious. His nose is definitely broken.

Calmly, Finnick picks up Broadsea's bottle of vodka and takes a big sip. He turns to me. "You okay?"

I nod.

He offers his hand to me and pulls me onto my feet. Then he wraps his arm around my shoulders and we start towards my house. I wrap my arm around Finnick's waist because he seems to be limping. And also because I just want to be close to him.

"Lowtide and Broadsea dated for a little while," he explains. "But Broadsea – being Broadsea – slept with somebody else. Lowtide caught 'em in the act. He cared about her, but he didn't exactly put much effort into getting her back." He winces as we climb the steps to the porch. "He does that to a lot of women – claim to love 'em, then break their hearts. I don't think he means to, but he does."

Inside, I sit Finnick down on the couch and head into the kitchen. I wrap a handful of ice cubes in a dishtowel and go back to him. I press it against the bruise forming on his jaw and notice his right hand pressed against his side. I try to push his hand away to see.

"I'm fine," he says angrily. He wraps his hand around my wrist and tries to pull me away. That's when I see the bloodstain slowly growing on his shirt. I gasp. Softly, he says, "It's okay. I got _him_ worse than he got _me_."

I make him hold the icepack to his jaw and grab another dishcloth to press against the bloody spot. After a second, I look up at him and mouth the words, _Thank you_.

He smiles halfheartedly and mouths, _You're welcome_.

There's a long pause.

Finnick sees the safety bracelet on my wrist. He stops holding the icepack and reaches out to touch it. "You held onto this?" I nod. He's got his serious-face on – eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, brows pulled together with a little crease between them. "Annie, I . . . I . . . You . . . I . . ." he chokes on his own words.

Spit it out! You what? You _what_?

He sets his hand on my cheek and gives me a kiss. It's not sweet like the one after Mags's dinner party. This kiss is different. And it doesn't last nearly as long; he pulls away after only a few seconds. "I'll see you tomorrow." He kisses my forehead. Then he's gone.

_See you tomorrow_? Somehow, I don't think that's what he was trying to say.


	26. Winter

**Hey, guys. Not including this chapter, there are about five more. (I really don't want it to end!) Remember, there will be a sequel. And _176_ _reviews_? YOU. GUYS. ROCK. SERIOUSLY. Thanks so, so, so, so much! And yes, I am publishing new chapters a lot . . . Like I said, I've written a lot lately.**

**Winter**

(FINNICK)

Autumn comes and goes in a flash. I spend every day with Annie – who has dropped out of school – doing everything from sailing, to playing pool at the bar, to just sitting around and reading a book. The general boredom of being a victor is far less frustrating when you've got someone to be bored _with_.

I'm getting good at understanding what Annie's trying to say. We have this whole system of gestures and lip-reading worked out.

And I've stopped trying to tell her how I feel. Why? Because first and foremost, I can't even say it. Second, if she doesn't feel the same, our friendship will be ruined. So I've decided to keep my mouth shut.

Britton has given me a longer leash because Annie's nightmares are starting to go away. He credits me for this. And even if he didn't like me, he's in school all day while Annie and I aren't, so there's not much he can do about it.

Jocasta and I have formed a strange sort of a friendship. We visit every now and then. At first, it was just to help her with Asper-related-stuff, but she's turned out to be really nice.

The Victory Tour draws closer every day. Snow wouldn't dream of cancelling it, but there will be no interview in the Capitol on the last day of the Tour. I've already volunteered to stay on as mentor so that Annie won't have to, but I can't save her from the Tour.

I stomp up the steps onto Annie's porch, hands burrowed in my pockets and shoulders hunched against the falling snow. I knock a few times.

The door swings open and there's Annie. She pulls me into the house by my hand. In the foyer, she puts her finger over her lips, points to the kitchen, then up the stairs. Britton is in the kitchen, stuffing his face with cereal before school.

I think Annie's telling me to be quiet and come up to her room.

Of course, I ignore her. I turn in Britton's direction and loudly say, "No, Annie! I will _not_ come to your bedroom with you!"

"No fornicating," mutters Britton.

Annie rolls her eyes and drags me along to her room.

I lay back on her bed before lifting up my arms and folding my hands casually behind my head. "What are we doing today?"

She dashes over to her closet and rummages around for a moment before producing a pair of ice-skates.

"We're going skating?" I ask doubtfully. "This is the first day it's snowed all year, and I doubt we'll find a decent place to go. And I can't even skate."

She points to herself, the skates, me, and mouths the word "teach." _I'll teach you how_.

I get off of Annie's bed and make my way over to her desk. "But it's so cold outside," I complain.

I start opening and closing the drawers. Annie rushes over and swats my hands away, but I just trot over to her bureau and begin poking through that instead. Annie grabs the skates and pushes me out of her room before I can do anything else. She drags me into her brother's room, where she starts digging through a pile of dirty clothes. She pulls out a pair of skates and shoves it at me.

We stroll down to the docks. Annie takes the keys to my cruiser and drives slowly. It's hard to weave between the chunks of ice that float on top of the water.

She stops at the docks on Slums, where she lived as a child. Next, Annie leads me into the woods by the hand. It's good, since she's going so fast that I'd lose track of her in an instant. She releases me in front of a small pond that's iced over.

"We're skating _here_?" I ask. "Are you sure the surface won't break? I don't want anyone getting hypothermia." I raise one eyebrow and, in my best seductive voice, say, "You do know how to cure hypothermia, don't you?"

Annie rolls her eyes. She walks into the middle of the ice and starts jumping up and down. It doesn't break. Annie is about half my size, though, and I take my time making sure the ice can hold _my_ weight. It's not that I don't trust the ice; it's that I want to stall time so I don't embarrass myself trying to skate.

We put on our skates. Annie holds onto my wrists and I hold onto hers. She skates backwards, slowly guiding me forwards.

It's a fight just to stay on my feet. At a certain point, my ankles hurt so much that I allow gravity to overcome me. With a loud curse, I accidentally pull Annie down with me. We land on our backs so hard, we nearly crack the ice.

Annie starts laughing.

"My back!" I whine. "Oh, ow . . ." As I turn my head to the side, I notice a snowy slope nearby. It's cleared of all large rocks and most trees. "I have an idea."

We head back to the residential area and dig around until I find a good-sized piece of cardboard. We trek back to the pond and hike up the hill. When we reach its crest, Annie tugs on my sleeve and gestures to the cardboard. _What are we doing_?

"We, my dear Annie, are sledding," I say. "Would you like to go first, or should I?"

Annie doesn't seem to share my love for adrenaline, but I agreed to go skating with her, so we agree that it's only fair she sleds with me. But she still isn't too enthusiastic about going down alone and I end up going down with her.

I can't say that I mind it.

I drop Annie off at her house just before sunset. Once Annie's inside, I turn to go. But then Britton, home from school, comes outside and stops me. "Let's get straight to the punch line: Annie really likes you. And that's fine with me. But Annie deserves a nice guy."

"I know," I say.

"Yeah. Well. I don't care if you are a victor. You do anything to hurt her, and I'll kill you in your sleep." Britton pats my shoulder twice. "Good talk." And he disappears inside the house.


	27. Tour

**I think this is my longest chapter in the whole story . . .**

**Tour**

(ANNIE)

Britton and I sit at the end of the staircase while we wait for my stylists to arrive. They burst through the door, all neon-haired and smiling.

Adonis, Ganny, and Lela – the prep team – gasp loudly and make strange donkey noises. Then they start in our direction. Instead of saying hello to me, they go straight for my brother. They say things like, "Oh – my – gosh! You have the skin of a _god_!"

Britton looks at me for some sort of sign, for help. He's wide-eyed with fear. In his defense, my prep team can be very frightening.

I shrug at him and laugh.

My head stylist, Beest, approaches me. "Why couldn't you have skin like this, Annie?" He pats Britton on the cheek twice. "I am so jealous. This is ridiculous."

Adonis blurts out, "I have had at least seven skin-replacements. The only thing I ever wanted was skin like this! I don't think it's too much to ask!" He begins to get choked up.

Skin replacements? When I was in the hospital after my Games, one of the doctors said they had to give me new skin on my hand and hip. I wrote out a question on a piece of paper: _How_? He explained that he used something new. Spray-on skin that comes in a can. He says it's very common and it can be matched to any skin-tone, so no one will know it's not mine.

But an all-out skin replacement? That's disgusting.

While the others console Adonis, Britton makes a hasty retreat to his room. "Good luck," he says under his breath.

My prep team proceeds to drag me upstairs. They chat about my brother's "divine" skin for a while before they start to complain about how I look as they remove almost all the hair from my body. When they're done, they split up duties. Adonis will work on my hair, Lela will try to resurrect my nails, and Ganny holds up color-swatches to my face to pick my makeup.

Eventually, Lela gives up and attaches fake, un-bite-able nails to what's left of my real ones. She takes off the safety bracelet that Finnick made me. I reach for it, but she swats my hand away. "You'll get this back after the Tour," she says, and stuffs the bracelet into my sock drawer.

I lean back in my chair and accept defeat. If I have a breakdown in the middle of the Victory Tour, it's her fault.

Ganny sorts the color swatches into different piles. Adonis assures me that although my brother has better skin, I have much nicer hair.

After my hair is curled to perfection, they begin painting my face and nails. Judging by the colors Ganny picked out, we're going for the sexy look. I couldn't care less.

My lips are given a very dark red coating. My eyelids are black. My lashes are thicker than my thumb. My prep team thinks that they're brilliant. They congratulate themselves with a round of circular pink pills from a white bottle.

"Want one?" asks Ganny.

I nod.

The pill relaxes me slightly. Makes me hate my prep team a little less.

Beest is downstairs. His hair still looks like a lot of metal wires sticking out of his head. He tosses me a bundle of clothes, then hands me a bunch of cue cards, which I immediately toss into the fireplace. I'd rather get shot than read that crap.

"Still not talking, huh?" he asks.

In reply, I march upstairs.

The clothes are nice: thick brown pants, a baggy lace-up shirt that Beest calls a "pirate-shirt," and black leather boots.

By the time I come back downstairs, the camera crews have surrounded Britton. They're interviewing him, but it's not going so well. They've cornered him in the kitchen, just beside the steak knives. He stammers a lot and keeps glancing at the knives, probably plotting his escape.

They wrap me in a coat before I give Britton a final hug.

"You're wearing makeup," he says. He breaks out in a smile. "You look funny."

I roll my eyes as our dear Capitol escort Brae Briggar enters.

Brae completely ignores me. She looks different. Now she's got ice blue lips that match her hair and snowflakes tattooed all across her face. But it's not her ridiculous face that catches my eye, it's her expression. She has this stressed-out look on her face. She clutches a little clipboard to her chest.

"Let's get going, people! At this rate, I'll be dead by the time we reach Five. Annie, you look pretty, now get the _hell_ _on that train_!"

"Best of luck!" Britton calls.

Then we're outside. Cameras circle me. Finnick casually puts his arm around my shoulders and steers me towards the train station. I hug everyone else before we're stuffed in the train.

Our first stop is District 12. I'll have to see Tachs's family. I'll probably have to see his girlfriend, too. The one he talked about right before he . . .

I go to bed without dinner and don't sleep. I sort of want another one of those pills. The next morning, I end up eating breakfast.

The ceremony in 12 is long and boring. I look at Tachs's family the whole time. His brothers and father look nothing like him. I wouldn't even be able to tell they were related if it weren't for the mop of brown hair and the terrible posture.

But his girlfriend . . . She's just as pretty as he says. She's not gold-skinned; in fact, her skin is whiter than snow. I'm not sure if it's because of the lack of sun, or because she's shocked to see me. She cries the whole time. Tachs's father puts his arm around her shoulders to try and calm her down, but he's on the verge of tears himself.

Tachs's words ring in my ears. _"I picked you up off the street because you reminded me of my girlfriend."_

He saved my life when he picked me up. He picked me up because I reminded him of this girl. Ergo, this girl saved my life.

I don't _really_ look like her. Maybe around the lips. And we're the same height. And build. Hmm. Maybe if she were tan, we'd look pretty similar. _Maybe_.

There's an awkward pause when Mayor Undersee asks me to say a few words. The Capitol gave me a lot of speeches to read and memorize, but I wouldn't read it even if I could speak.

I'm escorted back to the train to get changed into evening clothes. My dress involves a very, _very_ painful corset which makes me look stick-thin. Beest slaps a choker-style necklace around my neck and redoes my makeup.

Ganny gives me another pink pill and a shot of tequila to wash it down.

On the way to the mayor's mansion, Finnick takes my hand. "You did well," he says. I smile. But only because he's such a good liar.

The mayor's house is full of foods. There isn't much of it, though; 12 is the poorest district. But I'm not interested in the food. What I'm interested in is the group of people staring at me. Finnick takes my hand and leads me over to them.

There are five now: Tachs's family, girlfriend, and mentor.

Finnick shakes hands with the mentor – I think his name's Haymitch – before introducing me. "Annie, this is Haymitch; Haymitch, this is Annie."

Haymitch smiles at me. "Hi, Annie," he says kindly. "It's nice to meet you." He gestures to Tachs's girlfriend. "This is Laire."

We look each other over for a moment. Size each other up. Make sure that what we're staring at actually exists. Shake hands very cautiously.

Father says his name is Dem. Brothers say their names are Dagon and Techis. Wait – Tachs and Techis? Dem and Dagon? What's with the names?

They try to sit me down at their table, but I let go of Finnick's hand and make a break for the bar. If I'm expected to survive the night, I'd better be hammered.


	28. Drinking

**I am 13 reviews away from 200! I'd really like to reach 200, please. Yeah. I feel kind of like a jerk for asking that . . .**

**Drinking**

(FINNICK)

Annie is many things. She is pretty, she is nice, she is peculiar in a cute sort of way. She is also a lightweight, as I discovered today.

For the past hour, she's been slowly consuming ever alcoholic beverage in sight. Even Haymitch is slightly impressed. Dancing couples pause to watch Annie kick back shot after shot without passing out on the floor.

I try to get some food into them. Haymitch ends up picking at a slice of cake. Annie won't even look at a piece of food. She prefers to look at Tachs's girlfriend instead. Neither one has said a word to the other the whole night. They've just been staring at each other.

Laire's actually kind of pretty – or she would be, if she didn't pout so much. She picks at the food on her plate without eating it, even though this is probably the most she's seen in her life. But her depression is understandable. I only wish that she'd say something to someone besides Tachs's family.

Annie, Haymitch, and I are sitting in a table at the exact center of Mayor Undersee's dining hall. Annie reaches for a half-empty bottle of wine at the center of the table, but Haymitch snatches it up and clutches it possessively to his chest.

"You should be on the floor," I say to Annie.

She sets her elbows on the table and leans forward. She groans, shuts her eyes, and begins rubbing her temples.

"You'll be trying to crack your skull open come morning," says Haymitch. "I know I will . . ." He takes a drink from the bottle.

A waitress comes with two shots. She sets them before Annie and Haymitch, who reach for them at once. But I manage to snatch both shots and down them before _they_ get the chance.

"That's rude," Haymitch says. "You shouldn't take other people's things without asking."

"You'll thank me for it one day," I say.

Haymitch mutters something.

I check my watch. "We should get going," I say to Annie. "It's a long way to Eleven. Good seeing you, Haymitch."

"Uh-huh," he mutters, pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips. He probably won't remember this night at all.

Annie tries pulling herself onto her feet, but stumbles. I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her. She tries to take another step and nearly falls again. So I have her put one arm around my shoulder. Then I bend down, grab her by the waist and knees, and lift her. "Upsy-daisy." I start to carry her towards the train.

I carry Annie out to the car. Even when we're inside, she keeps her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. So I keep my arms around her, too.

Tonight must've been hard for her. Honestly, I'm just glad she didn't mentally check-out on me.

When we're out of the car, I carry Annie to her room in the train. Brae promises to give Annie a good talking-to when she's sober.

I take a semiconscious Annie into her room and set her down on her bed. I help her pull off her shoes and most of her jewelry. As I unclasp her charm bracelet, I realize she's not wearing the bracelet I made for her. For some reason, this makes me feel stupid.

But I don't have time to ask her about it before she jumps up from the bed and runs into the bathroom. I can hear her getting sick, but she's locked the door. So I lean on the wall beside the door and wait. After a few minutes, I hear her washing out her mouth in the sink.

She stumbles out groaning. "Are you okay?" I ask, brushing her hair back. She nods. "Let's get you into bed."

So I tuck her in and sit on the edge of the bed. Her eyes slowly begin to shut; her breathing steadily gets slower and deeper. I try to leave, but she grabs my hand at the last minute. She mouths, _Don't go_. I can't exactly say no, can I?

"Alright," I whisper. I pull off my shoes, remove my tie and crawl into bed.

Unlike the last two times Annie and I spent the night together, I don't fall asleep right away. Annie goes out instantly, curled up in a ball with the covers pulled to her chin. But I can't sleep. The words are crawling up my throat again, but vanishing by the time they reach my lips.

Why can't I just say it? One sentence. Three words. Eight letters. _I love you._

I've killed _ten_ people in my life – not all of them in the arena, mind you. I've lived through hell. And I got over it. So I'm not about to let three little words get the best of me. I've got no trouble with the beginning and end; I think the word "love" is the root of the problem.

I decide I'll tell Annie at the end of the Tour.

After about an hour, I get up and head into my room. I don't sleep _there_, either.

When I come into the dining cart for breakfast, Brae is angrily buttering a piece of toast. "Is Annie awake yet?" she demands.

"I doubt it," I say. I sit at an adjacent side of the square table. "She probably drank herself into a coma."

"The moment she wakes up, I am going to give her a piece of my mind!" Brae takes a large bite from her toast. I pour myself a cup of coffee and spread some cream cheese on a bagel while Brae continues blathering to herself.

Annie trudges in and sits across from me.

I push a cup of coffee and some toast towards her. "It'll help with the headache."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" spits Brae. "You get drunk on the first night of your Victory Tour, like some" – she struggles to find the appropriate words – "washed-up, double-digit-district loser! It makes you seem pathetic." Annie clenches her hands into fists. Brae continues, "And you can't even _try_ to talk?" Annie's lip slips between her teeth. "I know you're insane and all, but if you would –" Tears are slowly building.

"Shut up," I snap at Brae.

Brae turns to me. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Shut. Up," I say again. "Annie has a hangover that would paralyze a dolphin, and you're squeaky little voice is giving me a headache. You're just yelling at her because she's not some _washed-up, surgically-altered Capitol bimbo_ like you," I say, mimicking her tone. "So shut up."

They just look at me, open-mouthed.

Very calmly, I ask, "Annie, would you pass me the sugar?"


	29. Feelings

**Feelings**

(ANNIE)

_Once Finnick has finished yelling at her, Brae has no idea what to say. She hesitates for a few moments before shouting out, "You are terrible in bed!"_

_Finnick snorts. "Bitch, please. I rocked your _world_."_

_He did _what_? Wait, they've had _sex_? When? Under what circumstances? Were they _together_ or something? I can't wrap my head around that. Can't do it. And why does the thought of Brae with Finnick make me feel . . . jealous?_

_Brae tosses her glass of orange juice in Finnick's face before storming out of the room._

_"You idiot! This is my favorite shirt!" Finnick shouts after her. He turns back to me and asks, "Are you okay?"_

_Before now, I have never heard Finnick say anything mean. I've never heard him shout. I know he has a reputation for being a tool, but Finnick just never seemed like one to me . . ._

That was several days ago.

Lately, I've been feeling kind of . . . funny. Sometimes I feel sick to my stomach and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. Sometimes it's like a colony of butterflies are trapped in my stomach and my insides are melting.

I know it sounds weird. And it gets weirder – the inside-buttery stuff and the butterflies-thing only happen when I'm around Finnick. The sickness and pulse-hearing only comes when I'm _not_ around Finnick.

Why does he make me feel funny? It's not natural.

I like everything about him. I like that stupid grin he gets when he thinks he's being funny. I like how he walks – shoulders thrown back like he owns whatever room he walks into. I like how he talks, dragging out certain words and speeding up on others. I really, really like _him_.

I once asked Britton what it was like to be in love, since he's in love with Io. He said that it could either be excruciatingly painful or make you feel like the whole world was yours for the taking.

And why am I thinking of love now, you ask? I think that's the word for how I feel about Finnick.

Brae has given me a strict limit of one glass of wine per night. I usually end up sneaking a few extra glasses, but I never get drunk. Finnick is aware of it, but he pretends not to notice.

Beest keeps the dresses low-cut and short. I've started to wonder if they plan on selling me like they do Finnick. But I'm the mad girl. Snow wouldn't be _that_ cruel. Would he?

In District 7, I dance with a guy named Blight. He's nice enough, but sort of awkward. District 6 depresses me because of the morphling addicts. They look too much like Lowtide. Everyone in 3 is fidgety and fast-talking.

Today, we're in District 2.

Oh joy of joys.

Finnick is in a black velvet suit and white shirt. He's also wearing a simple leather bracelet around his right wrist. I'm in a black-and-white dress, black flats, and so much jewelry I can barely stand up straight. As for Brae, she dresses more and more scantily the closer we get to the Capitol.

After the ceremony, a handful of victors take me and Finnick for a tour around the district. 2 consists mostly of mountains and quarries, so we're taken around in a hovercraft. I stick close to Finnick out of fear. I mean, I killed one of their tributes. And the victors terrify me anyway – one of them has _fangs_!

When the hovercraft ride is over, we're brought into the banquet hall of the mayor's home. I eat a little, but one of the victors is looking at me funny. It makes me uncomfortable. The victor's got brown hair and an angular nose. Average height and build. Dark silver suit. I think Finnick said his name was Orion.

Brae is flirting with a victor named Brutus across the room. Finnick is telling some stupid yet funny story about his dog. The victor keeps on staring.

Eventually, I can't stand it. I tug on Finnick's sleeve and gesture at the door behind us. It leads to the balcony.

"You're going to get some air?" guesses Finnick. I nod. "Do you want me to come with you?" I shrug. "I'll be out in a minute, okay?"

It's cold outside. I regret not coming out here with a coat, but I don't feel like going inside to get a coat. So, I lean on the rail of the balcony.

That creepy victor from earlier comes and stands near me. "It's Annie, right?" he says.

_Of _course_ it's Annie_. I nod.

"I'm Orion," he says, shaking my hand. "Egma's father."

Don't think about it. Don't think about her. Hate her. Killed her. Killed her 'cause she killed Asper. Blood. Her fault. Don't think about it. Don't. Don't. Don't.

What's that noise? Oh, it's just my teeth chattering. Legs are shaking. Whole world is spinning. Icy feeling crawling up my spine. Want to cover my hands with my ears and block out his words, but they're not responding.

"My daughter only killed two people," Orion continues calmly.

No. She didn't. She killed one and slaughtered the other. His facts aren't right. His facts aren't _right_!

Don't think about it. They're just words. Words can't hurt me. Words can't kill Asper. Words can't make me crazy. Egma, however, successfully accomplished all three.

"You've killed three, I think." He laughs. "My record is seven." He looks me right in the eye. "I'm sure Egma would've raised her record to three if you hadn't go–" he stops himself. "You know what? You _earned_ that crown. Just like I did. Just like Finnick did. I just want you to be aware of the fact that the people you killed have families." He leans in uncomfortably close and whispers, "And not all of them are as forgiving as I am."

Finnick comes outside. "Hey," he says casually, and walks over to us. He peels off his coat and wraps it around my shoulders. "How's everybody doing tonight?" Orion doesn't say anything. He just brushes past Finnick and heads inside. "Don't worry about him," says Finnick, turning back to me. "His bark is worse than his bite." He pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Come on. We've got to get going."

He takes me through the mansion, into a hovercraft, to the railroad, and onto the train. He walks me to my room. I can't even give him a kiss good-night.

The nightmares come back. When I wake up, I look for the safety bracelet like Finnick told me to. But it's not there. Nothing is there.

So I go to the dining cart. And eat an omelet. Doesn't taste nearly as good as the one Finnick made.


	30. Poison

**Second-to-last chapter! The sequel will be called Resistance: Brave. Thought you might like to know the title . . .**

**Poison**

(FINNICK)

District 1 is uneventful. To be honest, I'm just glad to get out of there. But today, we're in the Capitol. It's our last stop on the Tour.

I've still got the antidote Lysander gave me. I keep it in plain view as my prep team waxes away the hair on my chest, legs, arms, and underarms. Thankfully, they've been instructed to leave my happy trail intact. They don't shave my face, either.

Two members of my prep team start whispering to each other as they pick out my makeup. Every now and then they'll throw a look my way and giggle.

My stylist Arita puts me in a plain black suit and sheer white shirt. "You, my dear, are going to look smashing!" she says enthusiastically.

I give her a halfhearted smile. But I'm really thinking about that _thing_. That I promised to do. Tonight. At the end of the Victory Tour. That involves telling Annie something. Something important. With the whole love thing. Yeah. That.

The banquet hall of Snow's mansion is filled with food. Where there aren't serving tables, there are circular tables covered in white tablecloths. And where there aren't dining tables or serving tables, there is a dance floor and a stage.

Annie has been put in a sliver dress tonight. I make my way over to her and we begin to walk through the room as she examines the different foods. She doesn't sample it like most of the other guests do. She just looks at it. Eventually, she decides on a cup of white soup and some rice and chicken.

I fill my plate with whatever's in reach and we sit down with Brae. I finish up quickly, but Annie just picks at the stuff on her plate. An Avox pours us some wine. As Annie reaches for hers, Brae snatches it up and pours the wine into her own glass. So I give Annie mine; I'm not for alcoholism or anything, but if anyone needs a drink, it's Annie.

When I'm done, my patron Alecta makes her way over. "Dance with me."

I kiss Annie's cheek. "You two play nice," I say over my shoulder. I put my hand on Alecta's hip and start dancing with her.

"You and Annie are getting close," she says bitterly.

"Is that a problem?" I ask.

"I want you all to myself," she whispers.

"Is that so?" I say. "Then you'll need to have one damn good secret."

Someone taps on my shoulder. It's just an Avox. She hands me a golden envelope with a red wax seal on it. I open it up and read the note inside: _My office. Now._ It's from Snow. I excuse myself and slowly make my way towards Snow's office. Just before I enter, I pull the antidote from my pocket and drink every last drop of it.

Snow calls, "Come in!" before I even have the chance to knock. His home office is just like I remember it when I watched Ezra die. Snow himself is sitting at his desk. "Sit." I sit across from him and he shoves a glass of brandy at me. "I don't know if I was totally clear last time we had a chat."

"_I_ think you were pretty clear," I say.

"I don't think I was," he says. "No public displays of affection."

I snort. "You called me in here because I kissed Annie on the cheek?"

"You may do whatever you like in the privacy of your own district," he says. "You're patrons don't want a man that'll just run home to his girlfriend. They don't like commitment. So stop it."

"Or what?" I snap. "You'll kill her?"

"Of course I'll kill her." Snow smiles wickedly and takes a sip of his drink. "I'll sell her first, though." He gestures to my glass of brandy. "Have a drink."

He'll sell Annie just like he sells me. Then kill her. That's basically what he said.

I'm so dumbstruck that I actually do take a sip. It tastes like regular brandy, except there's a strange underlying taste. Fruity, almost. What is that? Strawberries? Wait. Lysander said that the poison tastes like strawberries. Is Snow trying to poison me?

"Get back to the party." He smiles. "Have fun."

I'm numb. I barely know that I'm walking out his door with the drink still in my hand. I find my way back to the bar but I don't remember moving my feet. I'm just thinking of the words: _"Of course I'll kill her. I'll sell her first, though._" That's sick. That's absolutely sick. Disgusting. Repulsive.

Why would he even think of doing that? I mean, it's one thing to do it to a normal person, but _Annie_? He's the one who decided she was mad! Would he really do that to a sick girl? Or is he just trying to scare me? But it does explain a lot – mostly the way that Annie's stylists have dressed her recently.

Alecta fabricates out of thin air. "Hey. I've got a secret for you."

She takes me by the hand and leads me around a corner into a bathroom. She locks the door behind us and assures me that the walls are soundproof. I'm still holding onto the poisoned cup. I shouldn't be going with her. I only sleep with people when Snow tells me to. Because Snow controls me. He controls everyone.

"Are you ready?" she asks. "Ooh, brandy!" Before I can stop her, she's removing the cup from my hand. She's taking a sip. And she finishes it off. "Okay, so, did you know that Snow killed his own –" She doubles over.

The cup drops to the ground where it shatters. Then Alecta falls to the ground, too. She starts writhing and screaming her head off. She clenches her hands into fists and presses them against her temples like she's trying to crush her own skull. After a few more seconds of screaming, she starts gasping for air.

And then it stops. Her eyes are still open, her lips slightly parted. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth. She's dead.

What to do now? Well, I've never liked Alecta. Personally, I don't feel any great loss. And I technically didn't kill her, Snow did.

So, I walk out of the restroom and head back to Annie. I have to tell her I love her tonight. And I can't do that if I'm accused of murdering my patron.


	31. Speechless

**_THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER!_ Thank you guys so much for all the support! Keep your eyes peeled for the sequel, which will be called Resistance: Brave. There will be new characters and gore and fluff and all that nice stuff. THANKS AGAIN, GUYS! Also, some people have been freaking out of the whole Finnick-getting-poisoned thing. If you look, he drinks the antidote before he goes into Snow's office. That's why he's okay.**

**Speechless**

(ANNIE)

I'm dancing with a big guy. He calls himself Plutarch Heavensbee and says he's a Gamemaker. He's nice enough, but the word "Gamemaker" doesn't exactly make me like him. He talks every now and then, but I'm rather distracted.

I want him to go away so I can go home. I'm so sick of this place.

Finnick disappeared with a woman a while ago, and I haven't seen him since. I try to tell myself that I'm worried about him, not that I'm jealous of the woman he ran off with – even though I am. But that doesn't matter. He should've been back by now . . .

I'm growing impatient. When will this damn song end? Where_ is _he?

The song ends and the band's lead singer – a ginger woman with a District 1 accent – announces a special song. She says they learned this number especially for the victors of District 4. They say it's a song from home. If that's true, then it will forever be ruined for me.

Finnick appears out of nowhere and asks Plutarch if he can cut in.

"It was good meeting you, Annie," Plutarch says before walking away.

Finnick very easily puts my hand on his shoulder, his on my hip, and holds my other hand. He has that same old serious-face on. Jaw clenched. Blue-green eyes narrowed. And eyebrows pulled together with a crease between them.

No one else dances – not because they don't know the song, but because this was chosen specially for me and Finnick.

The song is one of the most popular ones in the district. Everybody knows it – and the dance. It's very simple: basically, you just move aimlessly around the dance floor and whenever they say the word "swim" or "swimming," the boy spins the girl. Simple, like I said.

It's weird being this close to Finnick. Even when we shared a bed, we barely even touched. And it's even weirder because of the way Finnick is looking at me. I feel slightly . . . uncomfortable. But Finnick has perfected this dance. I can tell he's trying to make it fun. So I try to _have_ fun.

When the dance ends, the other partygoers applaud. Finnick slips away without a word. I don't find him again until the party ends. In the car, he doesn't speak. He doesn't do a thing. He does end up walking me to my room on the train.

He's got those blue-green eyes on me again. He's looking strangely pale. His square jaw is clenched tight and his bronze-highlighted hair lies in an unkempt mess across his head. Has he been sleeping well lately? Has he been sleeping at all?

I wait for a few seconds, hoping he'll say something. Do something. But he doesn't. So I turn around and open the door.

When it's about three inches open, Finnick's hand reaches over my head and slams it shut. "I have something to say."

Slowly and cautiously, I turn around. I'm pressed up against the door, Finnick's arm still holding it shut. He's still got the serious-face on, but it's somehow different. He looks like he's in pain. I don't like it. He shouldn't be in pain . . .

Nothing could ever prepare me for the words he says next.

"I love you, Annie," he says.

What? He _what_? Me? I . . . um . . . _Me_? He loves _me_? That doesn't sound quite right. Is this a dream? Because it feels suspiciously like a dream . . .

I'm supposed to be madly in love with him and he's supposed to keep living his life, oblivious to how I feel! That's the way of the world!

"And I don't know if this will work out," he continues. "I don't think it will. You deserve somebody that'll be good to you. And that's not me. I'm just going to hurt you. I'll cheat on you. I'll make you feel like crap – even though I don't mean to."

I'm still having a little trouble understanding. Finnick Odair – _the_ Finnick Odair – famous for his looks, his charm, his Games, for being _him_ – loves _me_? I'm damaged goods! I'm crazy! He can't _love_ me! It's not – it's not – it's – not –

"But I had to say it," Finnick says slowly. "And you needed to hear it. Just once." He waits for me to say something, but only for a second. Then he slowly removes his hand from the door. Then he very gently kisses my forehead and heads down the hall.

I want to speak. I want to tell him that I love him, too. But I can't speak. I need to speak, though, because if Finnick gets away before I can say or do something, there's no telling what will happen.

He's at the door, now. The one that connects to the next train car.

There are words building in my chest. And this time, they don't die in my throat. "Finnick, I love you!"

Finnick stops at the door, hand still on the doorknob. He stays frozen like that not for seconds, but entire minutes – I'm not exaggerating. And I'm just stand there like an idiot. Chest heaving. Heart racing. Voice finally working.

The suspense is killing me! Did he hear me? Is this even real? Please, please, please, let this be real. Because if it isn't, I don't think I could handle waking up from this dream.

Finnick turns around very, very slowly. I can't place the emotion on his face; I've never seen it before. It's disbelief? Shock? Happiness? Anger? Pain? Confusion? A blend, maybe.

Next thing I know, he's right in front of me. Once again, I'm pressed against the door. And again, his arm is over my head with his hand on the door. He's looking right in my eyes like he did when we were dancing. I can't regain my breath when he's looking at me like that.

He puts his free hand on my cheek and kisses me. I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach his lips, and even then, he has to bend down slightly. This kiss is noticeably different from any of our others. I don't know how, though.

I pull away and Finnick moves back slightly, but doesn't let go. "Say it again," I whisper.

Finnick smiles and even laughs a little. "I love you."

And I press my smiling lips to his once more.

**Yeah . . . So, that's all. I just want to say thanks so much. And keep your eyes peeled for the sequel! I promise it won't suck.**


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